My demon probably wasn’t going to agree. 

“I’m going, Barney.” 

The spirit hovering by me glowered. “Don’t call me that! How many times do I have to tell you, it’s Barnabus! And I will not let you go!” 

“Barnabus,” I grumbled under my breath as I shoved things into my suitcase. “A lovely name for a lovely young demon.” 

Barnabus’s aura didn’t darken like it did when he was really ticked at me. Instead, he sighed. “I’m your guardian angel, Dern. Not a demon.” 

“Really? Well, you might want to take a refresher course in angelic qualities. You’re more reminiscent of small-dog syndrome than anything else.” 

I probably shouldn’t taunt the powerful being like I did. But he was being annoying, so I was going to be annoying back. 

“Besides, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Think about it! I can test the first real-life time machine. The pay will set us up for years. And I already bought the ticket.”  

I glanced around. I’d packed everything, hadn’t I? 

“You want to know why they pay so well?” Barnabus huffed, following me around the room.  “To attract idiots like you to be lost forever in time! How’d you like to live out your life stuck in the 1100s? And think about me, Dern! This really makes it very hard to keep you safe. It’s better to not go.” He nodded, as if he’d settled the matter. 

I grabbed my suitcase and walked to the door. I ran through my mental list. Keys, ticket, wallet, check. 

“Well, Barney, you can stay if it makes you all that happy.” I opened the door and let myself out, smiling tauntingly.  

Grumbling, he floated to my side. “I knew you’d change your mind,” I said, locking the door to my one-bedroom apartment shut. “Boy, am I glad to leave this place.” 

“And you expect certain death to be better?” Barnabus demanded. 

I grinned. “There’s no death in the contract, let alone certain. And even that’s got to be better than what we’ve got. If life were food,” I explained nonchalantly as we walked to the car, “Mine would be that bland, awful oatmeal mush that Dad used to make, and yours something that’s making the fridge smell like mold. Compared to that, McDonalds is first class.” 

I slid into the driver’s seat of my blue truck. “Which means that death, even if it isn’t certain, is an upgrade! If we don’t die, it’s still a win-win.” 

Barnabus rolled his eyes, something I like to think he learned from me. He did that so often his eyes would fall out of his head soon. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so cranky - he wouldn’t be able to jump at shadows at every corner. Or maybe, he’d be even worse, because with no sight, all you’d see was shadows, right? So maybe I didn’t want to go there after all.

“Need me to fix that?” I said. 

Barnabus frowned, looking over at me from the passenger seat. “What?” 

“Looks like a few of your screws are loose,” I told him, spinning the wheel and backing out of the parking spot. “Wouldn’t want those eyes to fall out and make you even more cynical.” 

Barnabus’ only response was, “I can’t believe I still like you, Dern.” 

I laughed. “Yeah, I’m a charmer, huh? A bad influence, too. Double points for me.” 

I adjusted my rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of my reflection. 

Tall, lanky boy with thick, unruly blond hair, smirking at the empty space where Barnabus’ reflection should be. 

“What makes me so special that I get my own demon?” I asked. “Or does everyone get a demon and nobody knows about everyone else’s? That doesn’t seem like it’d work so well.” 

Barnabus paused, pulling and readjusting the tie around his throat. “Well, when your mother died…” 

“Yeah?” 

“She, well, wanted me to look after you.” 

“Why didn’t she come do that herself?” My tone had more bite than I meant it to. 

“That’s not how it works, Dern. She...she’s busy.” 

“Busy? She’s dead. She should have plenty of time for me now.” I scoffed. “Even dead, I’m second priority.” 

I readjusted my mirror, ignoring Barnabus’s expression and flustered hand movements. Why did it irritate me so much? 

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Anyways...most people don’t have one specific guardian assigned to them. You’re a special case, Dern.” 

“Yeah,” I grumbled, turning left. “So I’ve always been told.” 

It’s not bad, Dern. You’re just...special. 

Us? We’re the disabled kids. Otherwise known as ‘special.’ 

Would you cut it out, Dern? You always act as though you’re so special!

I’m here to help your...special case. 

When will you start acting like a normal child?! 

“So special.” I murmured, flicking off my blinker. 

Barnabus sighed. “I’m sorry, Dern.” 

I glanced at the picture that I’d taped next to my speedometer. Clara had her dark red hair tied in a messy bun, tongue wagging, her arm draped over my shoulders. I was laughing. Everything’s easier if you laugh, she’d told me. 

I chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Few people can be like I can.” 

Reporting to the lab was exciting. Even Barnabus didn’t complain, taking in the movie-like surroundings. Pristine office, official workers buzzing around. I walked up to the counter and flashed my ticket. “Dern Reddcunt. I’m here to test the time machine?” 

The short lady at the desk looked me over disapprovingly. “Uh-huh...one moment.” She clicked away on her computer for a few minutes, long enough for me to get bored, which, granted, wasn’t very long. I blew into Barnabus’s face, and he crackled lightning into mine. 

I looked up as a little kid pushed through the doorway and peered over the lady’s shoulder.

“A kid?” Barnabus whispered.  

He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt with Metallica on it in elaborate script. His black hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a month, there were dark circles under his green eyes, and he held a huge cup of what I assumed was coffee. Despite all this, he wore a wiry grin. 

“So this is my guy, huh, Ariel?” 

The lady nodded. “Dern Reddcant.” 

I frowned. “Your guy? But you’re -” 

The boy grinned, raising his mug. “A dweeby kid?” 

I nodded sagely. “Exactly. And you don’t look like you belong...here.” I glanced over my surroundings of white lights, whiter walls, crisp business suits - and back at him. Nope, he definitely didn’t match. 

His eyes looked like static electricity trapped in a bottle; wide, intense, and twitchy. He smirked. “I’m Alistair Scrawling, the inventor of the first ever time machine. And I’ve just employed you to test it.” 

He glanced back at the desk lady. “See ya, Ariel.” He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes, smiling. 

“Come on, kid.” He walked out from behind the counter and guided me to the left wall, pulling open the door to what looked like a broom closet.  

“Kid?” I grinned at his snark, jumping after him. 

He shrugged. “People always called me that. Now I can do it to you.” 

“And is this your...cleaning closet?” 

Alistair laughed. “It used to be! Now it’s updated, renovated, and consecrated.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “By what?” 

His grin was so cocky. Oh, this kid was begging to be taken down a notch. It sparked familiarity though - he reminded me of myself at that age. 

“By me,” Alistair said simply, and marched into the room. 

I walked after him. Barnabus huffed. “Rude child.” He floated down the stairs. 

“Whoa,” I breathed. “Some broom closet.” 

It had been taken down into the whole basement level. Inset lights made up nearly the whole ceiling, and the place was divided into what looked like at least 50 different cubbyholes, a large room in the center. Heavy rock and deep classical blared at each other, fighting for eardrum breaking dominance, making Barnabus wince. The walls had family pictures taped to them, Periodic tables of elements, and random colorful stains. Tools, trash, paper, oil, and various other things lay strewn all over the place. Alistair smiled genuinely. “My favorite place in the world.” He spread his arm, indicating the whole place. “My lab.” 

I nodded. “Not bad, for a twelve year old.” 

Alistair raised a finger. “I’m thirteen.” 

“Sure.” 

“Now if you’ll excuse me while I get your paperwork. In case you die or something. For legal purposes.” He turned away from me. “DAD! THE GUY IS HERE!” 

I looked around. I hadn’t seen anyone else down here, but the sheer size of the place plus it’s incredible mess could be hiding anything. 

Beside me, Barnabus cringed. He was holding his ghostly hands over his head and squeezing his eyes shut. I was about to ask him what was wrong when a tall man pushed out of one of the many cubicles on the far side of the room. 

“Ah!” he cried, shoving his glasses up his nose. “Here? Already?” 

They were definitely father and son. They shared the same wiry structure, dark eyes that looked like someone had poured liquid electricity into them, and shaggy black hair. He had a stubbly beard, longer on the left than it was on the right, which looked weird. He, like Alistair, was wearing sneakers, jeans, and a t- shirt, although his was a solid gray. 

“Yes, Dad,” Alistair rolled his eyes. “I reminded you an hour ago. I told you he’d be here in an hour.” 

“Hmm,” he mused. “Yes, well.” He turned to me, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, son! Good to see someone with the guts to try out the first time machine!” He gave me a conspiratorial wink. 

I chuckled, shaking his hand. “If there’s one thing I’ve got, it’s guts. I’m Dern, by the way.” His grip was firm, but his shake was floppy, as if he were somewhat distracted. 

He nodded. “Good, good. I suppose I should tell you my name - I’m Leander Scrawling, Alistair’s father.”  He leaned a little closer and put a hand to the side of his mouth, like he was sharing a secret. “He probably told you that he invented the time machine - it was really me.” 

“Dad,” Alistair said. “I invented it.” 

Leander pulled back, smiling. “Of course. With all of my ideas.” 

“It was my idea!” 

He held up a hand, still grinning. “Alright, Alistair, we should get this man set up for his journey through time, eh? Get going. I’ll get his paperwork.”