Deamhan by Isaiyan Morrison

shoulder.
    “Veronica?”
    She turned and stood face to face with Murphy.
    “Murphy?” She willed her eyes to focus, surprised he was there.
    “Are you okay?” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the sweat on her forehead. “You look sick.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “I thought I’d check this place out.” He wrinkled his forehead. “You don’t look so good.”
    He shouldn’t be here. Still, she welcomed his presence even if his form-fitting blue jeans and loose white T-shirt made him stick out in Dark Sepulcher more than she did.
    “Were you leaving?” he asked.
    Veronica nodded weakly. “Can you get me out of here?”
    “Yeah, sure.” He took her hand and led her toward the exit.
    The floor felt uneven to Veronica’s steps, and she fought symptoms of vertigo as Murphy led her through the heavy black curtains and out the front door. A cool breeze rushed against her face and up her back. Overhead, the sky glowed with an orange haze, and she wondered if it was pollution or the streetlights that lit up the city.
    “Feeling better?” Murphy asked.
    She tensed at a loud buzz and looked up then sighed in relief when she realized the sound originated from an airplane heading to Minneapolis International Airport, which wasn’t far away.
    “Veronica?” His voice drew her eyes back to his face.
    “Yeah, I’m sorry. Let’s go.”
    “Did you drive or walk?”
    She looked behind him at Dark Sepulcher in the distance. “Taxi. I called a taxi.”
    He pulled out his cell phone.
    “No, don’t.”
    “Are you okay to walk back?”
    “Yeah, I could use the fresh air.”
    He nodded and put his phone away.
    Veronica leaned against his body while they walked down the street. She held on to his arm firmly. Every so often she looked over her shoulder. She didn’t know who would come for her. She expected Branda and Brandy to finish what they started. Maybe walking back to Palm Oaks wasn’t the smartest thing to do after all.
    They walked down the street and passed a group of men dressed in dark clothing. Veronica looked over her shoulder, watching them walk into Dark Sepulcher.
    “What’s wrong?” Murphy asked as he removed his arm from Veronica’s side, forcing her to stand on her own.
    “It’s nothing.”
    “Well, are you feeling better at least?”
    “A little. Thank you.” Veronica put her hand to her head, suddenly embarrassed.
     “You still look tired. What happened?”
    “I ordered a drink that was too strong for me,” Veronica lied. She carefully excluded the name of the drink. It contained something that gave the drink a magical element. Whatever it was, she didn’t want Murphy to try it.
     “That place is kind of weird,” he continued. “Just as I walked in, I saw this guy and girl biting each other. Are all gothic clubs like that?”
    “Dark Sepulcher is, well, special,” she answered, resting her fingers around his forearm. “It’s creepy.”
    Veronica and Murphy crossed the deserted street and headed down Hennepin Avenue. They passed boarded up stores and vacant facades. “For sale” signs lined the windows of several empty buildings, and an odor of urine lingered in the cool air.
    Murphy made small talk, chattering about his family and life in the Florida sunshine. He explained that his mother worked as a receptionist, and his father was an electronics technician. Veronica half-listened as she repeatedly glanced over her shoulder, looking and listening for the unknown. Tiny hairs on her neck danced and, despite Murphy’s proximity, she still didn’t feel safe.
     “What is it?”
    “I just want to get home.” She forced a weak smile.
    “Yeah, me too,” Murphy replied. “My warm bed sounds good about now. So um, what do your father and your mother do?”
    Veronica quickly changed the subject. “What did you say you’re majoring in at college?”
    “I’m taking generals now,” he answered. “I haven’t declared a major yet. I’m thinking