Ghost Whispers |-/ Joshler

mon·grel

/ˈməNGɡrəl/
noun
a dog of mixed or indeterminate breed; any cross between different things, especially if inharmonious or indiscriminate.

Therapy was a waste of time. Tyler, being tempted to tell his therapist of the incident, was mainly the one with his mouth sewn shut.

He sat there, hands folded in his lap while Josh intently stared at them. Tyler had to ignore the burning sensation of the ghost's eyes.

The same old drawl of school and sleeping came from Tyler as he told the therapist of how he spent his days. It was pointless, really; he couldn't say a word about the demons and angels in fear of being carted off a mental ward.

Josh had advised him from the very beginning to watch what he said and wrote, but the mention of his soul and souls in general just kept popping up in his lyrics. It was unavoidable.

"I'll see you in two days, Tyler." The therapist patted his shoulder, sending him off with a pitiful smile.

"Yeah, thanks." Tyler muttered back.

Chris had sat in the car the entirety of the appointment, doing various crossword puzzles and unscramblings in a 'neat little pad' that Zack had gotten him. Seeing his son's small figure against the darkening horizon, he unlocked the car.

Tyler got in. His body language read all wrong; head loose, covered by his hood, and hands in his big front pocket.

"How'd it go?" asked Chris as the car started up.

"Fine. It was the same old shit."

"You're lucky your mother isn't here with a bar of soap." His father chuckled, amused at his own wit.

Tyler offered no more than a half smile and a vacant stare at the glove compartment over his legs.

"You hungry? We can stop at Arby's or something."

"Sure."

"Tyler, that's not even a right answer." Josh said from where he hung over the back of his seat. "If you want to keep everything hidden, you have to do a better job."

Tyler scowled back at Josh, though not directly at him; at the aforementioned glove compartment.

"Thanks, by the way." Tyler added reluctantly.

"Of course, bud. It's not just physical activities that are energy draining." Chris smiled at him.

You got that right, Tyler thought.

"Yes, I quite agree. I find that when emotions run high, you can feel a bit more...lackluster."

Bête had appeared in the van behind the driver seat, with four pitch black wolves in the trunk, all licking their chops and growling. If they weren't so demonic, it would have looked like Chris was a dog fanatic.

Tyler jumped in his seat, half screaming. Luckily, they were at a red light and Chris's surprised jerk of the steering wheel didn't send them careening over on the highway.

"What, what is it?" His father asked in a panic.

Seeing Bête's little smirk, Tyler sunk back down. "I thought I saw a huge ass bug trapped inside with us." He sighed.

"Well Jesus, don't scream like that. I can't afford a heart attack." Chris clutched his chest.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

His father shook his head and looked back to the road.

"Now I wonder who would get the soul if you died in a car accident?" Bête mused, acting like he wasn't a demon come to earth to steal Tyler's very soul.