Page 54 of Someone Save My Midlife Tonight

Glancing down at Shitty Ritchie, I mouthed the word, stay. He nodded and plastered himself to Gideon’s leg. I kept my hands on my baby as I settled her behind me. I hoped like hell she would stay put. Her warm, small body behind me was the scariest thing that I’d ever felt. I wanted to toss her back into the house, but the lone figure was turning around. The time to hide was over.

“Tom Fucking Hanks,” Candy Vargo barked with disgust as the Higher Power smiled at us. The smile didn’t reach fake Tom Hanks’ eyes. I didn’t expect it to. The Higher Power felt no compassion for anything or anyone. “Imagine that, motherfuckers.”

“I’ve come to this appalling plane to make an offer,” FakeTom Hanks said.

It was beyond surreal to see Tom Hanks standing in my decimated yard, knowing it was definitely not Tom Hanks.

“Maybe Its offering sperm,” Shitty Ritchie whispered.

I wanted to whack the back of his head. I did no such thing. I stayed as still as a statue.

“State your offer,” Charlie said flatly. “I would imagine I already know our answer, but we’ll humor you.”

Fake Tom Hanks didn’t like that. His eyes flashed a frightening silver and his smile became a sneer. Alana Catherine grew squirmy behind me. My hands began to sweat as I attempted to keep her hidden without looking like I was hiding anything.

“I know what you people are up to,” Fake Tom Hanks snarled. “I’m here to tell you it will not work. In fact, if you continue on this foolish folly, it will cost all of you dearly. And I mean all of you. Anything or anyone you hold dear—Immortal or human—will be slowly and systematically destroyed. Am I making myself clear?”

“As mud, motherfucker,” Candy Vargo shot back.

Fake Tom Hanks went on as if he hadn’t just been insulted by the Keeper of Fate. Alana Catherine’s wiggling intensified. Shit was going south fast.

Gideon noticed and tried to speed it along. “State your terms,” he ground out. “We have places to be and things to do.”

Fake Tom Hank’s brows shot up. “Very bold of you, Grim Reaper. I’d suggest you keep your attitude in check.”

Gideon didn’t back down. It was known to both that he couldn’t kill the Higher Power, and the Higher Power couldn’t kill the Grim Reaper. The balance would be altered, and the world would end. “I’d suggest that you stop reanimating the dead. It’s illegal and the punishment is death—according tolaws you created. And I’d also suggest you get to the point of your uninvited visit. We’re busy people.”

Fake Tom Hanks turned a bright red. It looked like he might have a heart attack. However, the Higher Power had no heart, metaphorically speaking. Fake Tom Hanks’ jaw worked furiously. He didn’t like being backtalked. Too bad, so sad. This needed to be over. I wasn’t sure how much longer my baby would stay behind me.

“I will make a trade,” It said.

“Gettin’ bored, shart stain,” Candy Vargo commented. “Loved you inSleepless in Seattle, but this here performance is kinda stale.”

“I will take Richard Smith,” Fake Tom Hanks ground out. “If you give me Richard Smith, I will leave the girl child alone. I will never go after her again.”

“Who in the actual fuck is Richard Smith?” Candy Vargo demanded.

I was pretty sure she was fully back in the cussing Candy Vargo mode and leaving the poop-word free Candy Vargo behind.

“That’s me,” Shitty Ritchie called out, giving his hiding place up.

The man really had only two brain cells, and they were definitely not connected.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment. I’d told Gideon, the love of my life—my other half, that I would leave him if he didn’t protect Alana Catherine. I was willing to die for her. Was I willing to sacrifice Shitty Ritchie for the safety of my daughter? I knew, and clearly the Higher Power knew, that there needed to be three—a trinity—to remove It from power. If It eliminated one of the three, the transferwould never happen, and It could go on terrorizing the Immortal and human world forever.

Gideon glanced over at me. I looked back at him and shook my head no. I would not let Shitty Ritchie die. That wasn’t mine or anyone else’s call to make.

And then Richard Smith aka Shitty Ritchie chimed in.

“Let fake Tom Hanks take me,” he whispered. “I’m tired. That shart sperm won’t ever stop. I’ll be running until the end of time. I’m a lucky guy that I finally know what it means to have friends. I can die a complete person due to that. I’m sad that I never got to put my peepee in the love cavity, but, alas, some things are not meant to be. Let me die for my friends. It would make me proud. However, you have to promise me if you ever have a son that you’ll name him Shitty Ritchie in my honor.”

I couldn’t believe that I could laugh in the face of what was going down, but I could and I did. Shitty Ritchie was a piece of work and he was going nowhere fast.

“No deal,” I said. “Richard Smith stays and you will leave. The third of the trinity that you fear will take centuries to arrive. You have nothing to fear.”

“Yet,” Candy Vargo muttered.

Fake Tom Hanks began to laugh. He laughed so hard he fell to the ground in hysterics. It was unsettling to watch. There was no joy in the laughter—no humor. It sounded unhinged. Crawling back to his feet, he eyed me with furious disdain.

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