Something about the morning sun always made Vernon feel reflective. He leaned back on his palms and turned his face to the sky.

"Well." He blew some smoke from his mouth as his eyes traced the horizon, washed in the pinks and yellows of a deceptively peaceful dawn. "At least it's a nice morning."

"Yeah." Cleo smiled at her hands, which she kept folded in her lap. Vernon wondered if she buried them to conceal their trembling. "Yeah, it is."

Underneath them, the Missouri River flowed and churned, impassive in its endless journey to convergence with the Mississippi.

A few hours earlier, Vernon and Cleo had strolled along the pedestrian walkway of the Jefferson City Bridge. An endless parade of vehicles passed them by, heading into the city. Among the throng, Vernon had spotted local news trucks as well as a few big names in national news.

Cleo had suggested they go back, maybe try to ruffle the reporters' feathers a bit for the cameras.

But both of them knew the suggestion was as empty as the prison itself. They couldn't return. Not now, not ever.

Without words, they resolved to sit over the edge of the bridge. Their bodies phased through the guardrails and their legs dangled above the swift river as they watched the sunrise.

"It's a pretty city, too," Cleo observed.

Vernon nodded. "Mmm," he muttered in agreement. From the bridge, they could see the outline of the state capitol building. Its white dome's silhouette appeared black as the first rays of sunshine touched it. "Were you here, when they finished that?"

"Yes." Cleo sneered, a slight upturning of her full lips. "They brought in an architect from New York. Like we need a Yankee designing our state's center."

Vernon chuckled. "You really are a Midwest girl, aren't you?"

"Always have been, always will be," she replied, then paused. Vernon knew the reason for her hesitation. What had once been a matter of "always will be" had, in one night, been taken from them. Their bleak, new reality pressed upon them, shifting the tone and topic of conversation. Cleo swallowed, then asked, "Have you heard from Moira?"

"No." Vernon took another thoughtful pull from his cigarette.

"What about Juliana?"

"No."

The trembles of panic caused her voice to waver. "Nathaniel?"

"I haven't heard from anyone, Cleo." Vernon felt strangely detached from the entire conversation as if he had always known this moment lurked around the bend. Even his own replies felt rehearsed, maybe even predestined. "I think they're already gone."

"That can't be true." Cleo sniffed, her slim nose flaring as she drew in air. "They wouldn't just leave us. They wouldn't give up."

Her declaration snapped him into the moment. "What choice did they have?" Vernon shot back with heat in his tone. "Don't blame them, Cleo. They did what made sense. Maybe we should have done the same."

Cleo's features flickered. "You don't mean that?"

After taking a final drag, Vernon sent his cigarette over the side of the bridge. It turned in circles and arcs as it approached the water, glinting with the golden rays of the sunrise. Before it hit the water, it disappeared in a puff of ethereal essence. As he pondered the possible answers to her question, his own conviction grew. "I do." He stared at her, his gaze even and unwavering.

A moment passed. Cleo's eyes, clouded mirrors of the radiating blue orbs he remembered from her life, pleaded with him without words.
But Vernon maintained his steady stare.
With a sigh of surrender, Cleo dropped her head into her hands.

Both of them knew the truth. Their time had run out. They had to leave.

I'm ready to go, he thought. At last, he released that thought, a thought he had kept locked deep within himself for decades—no, centuries. It felt like releasing a captured insect from his cupped hands.

And once he gave it flight, he couldn't call it back.

Vernon sensed his presence before he saw him. He gave off a weighted, grave atmosphere, as heavy as a granite stone sinking into the impassive river flowing under the bridge.

"You summoned me?" he asked, his voice like teeth grinding gravel.

Vernon shrugged. "I guess so."

Cleo sniffled, then cried in earnest. "I don't want to leave." She sounded like a sniveling child, mewling into her mother's skirts.

"Mrs. Brandon, please don't make a fuss about this." To Vernon's surprise, the looming presence approached them, then sat on Vernon's right side, his own legs garbed in cheerless black also dangling over the water. But he kept a tight grip on his curved scythe, letting Vernon know the old god never let his guard down, not completely.

He let out a sigh and wiped his brow, invisible in the deep cowl of his hood. "It's been a long night, you see."

"I thought you'd be dancing a jig when you caught up to us," Cleo snipped back as she blew her nose on her sleeve. "How many years have you been after us?"

He clucked his tongue with annoyance, then chucked a rock over the side of the bridge with a flick of his long, bony fingers. "Only doing my job, madam. And, even you must admit, you and your friends have defied the rules of unlife for a very, very long time."

"Yeah," Vernon agreed. "Yeah, we have."

"I'm not without feeling." His quieted his voice until it barely breached the volume of a whisper. "Nights like tonight are hard on everyone." He gave Vernon a consoling pat on his leg. "I did enjoy our games of cat and mouse, old friends. And no one, not even me, wanted the game to end like this."

Cleo didn't seem to hear him. With the last of her pride, she stammered, "I am Cleo the Cleaver! I murdered twenty women with my butcher knife! I made a paranormal investigator faint with a touch on the shoulder."

Vernon knew half of that story was hyperbole and the other half complete fabrication, but he knew better than to press the issue with a woman on the brink of a meltdown. Besides, he couldn't act superior. After all, Vernon the Cannibal had his own tall tales that he maintained to keep the guests coming back.

Biting her lip, Cleo sputtered out, "I've—I've been on The Discovery Channel for my appearances in the hospital ward in my blood-stained dress!" She slammed her tight fist into the ground. "I will not be beaten by some—by some ..."

"Act of God?" Vernon finished for her, but he also directed the question at the grim figure seated next to him.

"You're asking me?" he asked, pressing a fleshless hand to his breast. "If a God exists, I have yet to make its acquaintance. I have a job to do, and I do it. And nights like last night ..." He trailed off, as if replaying the destruction and chaos he must have spent all night navigating through his eternal mind.

Even though Vernon couldn't see his eyes, the slight shift in his cowl suggested he, too, gazed at the city's skyline as he pondered. "Not even I know why these things happen. Why one house is left untouched, and another demolished, killing the mother, father, little children, and pets inside. Or—" He directed his black face in their direction, pressing all the weight of his eternal existence and duty upon them. "—why prisons like Missouri State Penitentiary allow ghosts like you two to cheat me for more days than I care to count."

"The most haunted prison in America, reduced to rubble!" Cleo cried, then fell into Vernon's waiting arms. He clung to her, smoothing her hair and shushing her, as she mumbled more words into his chest. "Nothing scares us. Nothing!"

"I have to admit, I was impressed when I heard you two tried to flee." The figure stood, brushing off his black robes. "Everyone else asked me to take them at that moment. But you two? You had to make it theatrical, didn't you?"

Vernon also rose, helping Cleo to her feet as he did so. "Well, would you expect anything less from Vernon the Cannibal and Cleo the Clever?"

He chuckled. "No, I suppose not." With a gesture of his scythe, the old god directed their attention to the morning sun, which was moments from complete sunrise. "And you can't maintain your existence here when day arrives, anyway. Seems a little pointless for you to call me."

"Just do it, old friend. For old time's sake."

The figure nodded. Vernon imagined his hidden face smirking. Then, he leveled his scythe at them.

Vernon and Cleo ceased to be.

With honor, love, and respect to everyone and everything affected by the Jefferson City tornado on May 23, 2019.

The Missouri State Penitentiary was damaged but not destroyed and was scheduled to reopen in October.