All the Old Haunts by Chris Lynch Page B

in the mouth with a rock of a right hand. Father’s lower set of dentures dislodges, hangs halfway out of his mouth in a bath of oily blood. He looks up again just in time for Satan to hit him again, bang on the mouth. The false teeth hit the walk just as Stanley drapes himself over his brother, pinning his arms to his sides.
    Mother’s sobs can be heard even through the closed window of the car.
    “Go on, Dad,” Stanley says urgently, grasping at Satan. “Go, go, go.”
    Father leans over unsteadily, scoops up the dentures while the blood pours out of his mouth, and stumbles away down the walk for the car.
    The engine races as Mr. and Mrs. Duncan tear away from the curb, and Stanley finally, slowly releases his brother.
    “What did you think, they were gonna take you?” Satan says with a sneer. “You thought they would take you away from me?” He turns and heads up toward the house.
    Stanley looks after the trail of smoke still hanging in the old car’s wake. Then he heads back inside.
    “No way,” Satan says, holding the door for his brother. “We are a package deal, you and me. Always and forever. You think you’re just gonna go and be normal, with them? You don’t have normal in your future, Stan, you have us, just like I do. Womb to tomb, baby. That’s our story, womb to tomb.”
    Satan shuts the front door. Bolts it. Chains it.
    “And now, we got ourselves a house. The American Beauty Rose Dream for us, Bro.”
    Silently, Stanley heads back upstairs, to their bedroom, with Satan right behind him.
    “Anyway, Stan, you saw. They failed you. When the going got tough, they left you behind, one by one, remember. I never would. Never will. Remember.”
    “Ya. I remember.”
    The first full two minutes are taken up with the labored breathing, quick-hit sobs, sniffling. He can’t speak, until he can, and then he sounds so panicked, desperate, and hyperventilating he could be a whole other person.
    “I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. Not fair. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I can’t share. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. So scared. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother. I love my brother.”
    Her name is Olivia.
    Stanley cannot even bear to call her anymore. It was hard enough before. Before, at least there were other diversions for Satan, other plots and schemes and missions to accomplish. Stanley had always managed to keep her away, to keep them apart.
    Before.
    The doorbell rings. This is such an unheard-of event now in the Duncan household, Stanley at first shrinks from answering it.
    It rings again. Slowly, he rouses himself from the couch in front of the television where he is spending more and more of his hours bathed in the strobing light of the box. His days have become almost completely devoid of motion. He’s getting skinny.
    He stands in front of the door. Satan has gone out to get food, but it couldn’t be him because he has a key.
    He stands in front of the door. Waiting for it to explain itself.
    The doorbell rings, and he steps back from it.
    “Yes?” Stanley says.
    “Stanley?” Olivia says through the door.
    Stanley nearly faints. “Olivia,” he says, walking to the door, leaning on it, placing his hands flat against it and smiling at it, as if it is the door itself he is so happy to see.
    “Are you going to let me in?” she says.
    He hurries to unbolt the door, then anxiously takes her hand, then her wrist