“Well, are you ready for our mission, Quinn?” Brock asked Destiny with a smile as he placed their luggage in the trunk of her pale yellow Volkswagen bug.

“I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” Destiny replied with a smile, even though she felt apprehensive. Brock had to know she didn’t like that nickname. After all, he hadn’t called her that in months. Was he trying to start a fight? That wasn’t like him, and he had never done anything like this before. Yet why would he call her by a name he should clearly know she didn’t like?

The nickname had started when Dirk was in the hospital after saving Amy from being gang raped. He had been suffering from a severe concussion and was in a state of delirium. Due to Destiny’s uncanny resemblance to the actress Margo Robbie, he had thought that Destiny was Harley Quinn from the movie ‘Suicide Squad’. He had also wondered if Brock was the Joker, due to the scar that curled from the corner of Brock’s mouth, sometimes appearing as a sinister grin. So Brock began occasionally calling her Quinn as a bit of a joke.

Then Brock took her to see the ‘Suicide Squad’ movie and she hated it. All of the demonic imagery made her uncomfortable. The portrayal of Dr. Harleen Quinzel reminded her of a cartoonish version of her own mentality during her former life as a porn star. She and Brock had a civil argument afterward. She was appalled that he wasn’t bothered by all of the violence given his own violent background. He claimed there was no comparison between real life and a fictitious movie. The couple ultimately agreed to disagree. But she insisted that he never call her Quinn again. He had complied. Until now.

So why now? She had noticed that Brock had been exceptionally quiet and pensive during the twenty hours since Captain Kirk had made his Seven Sallie proclamation. Was he angry that he was being thrust into a situation that could become violent? He had a right to be, yet she had thrown her support toward what their pastor had instructed. Yet Brock himself said he needed to go to Minnesota before she was even able to give her opinion.

So what should she do if he kept calling her Quinn? Calmly ask him why? Or just go along with it?

They had just one quick stop before the three hour drive to the Twin Cities. Destiny had made a couple of sandwiches for their road trip, but they were out of mustard. Brock loved what he referred to as turd on his sandwiches. After the liquid poop ordeal with baby Ella, Destiny was curious to see if he still referred to mustard that way. They stopped at a grocery store on the way out of town. “What all do we need here?” Destiny asked.

“Just turd as far as I know,” Brock replied.

“Okay,” she giggled.

“What?” Brock inquired with a grin and a frown.

“Oh nothing. We might as well get some more snacks, too.”

“You mean like chips, soda, and Ding Dong’s?” Brock asked with a mischievous smirk. He often accused Destiny of becoming a health fanatic. She usually replied that she had to, since he was making her into a workout fanatic.

The store was unfamiliar to them. Yet Destiny was about to gain an amusing memory that she would always  associate with this particular retailer. An employee noticed that they were lost and looking around and approached the couple. “Can I help you find something?” The older lady asked.

“Yes, could you tell us where the condom isle is?” Brock asked.

“Condoms are over by the pharmacy,” she replied casually.

“Huh, what?” Brock muttered.

“He meant condiments,” Destiny said with a chuckle.

“That’s what I said,” Brock responded.

“No, dear you said condom isle,” she told him.

 “I did?” Brock frowned and looked at the store’s employee. She nodded as she grinned merrily and winked at them.

“Sorry,” Brock smiled sheepishly as his face reddened. “We need mustard.”

“Isle four, honey,” she told them.

“Thanks,” Brock and Destiny said in unison.

After taking a half dozen steps in the direction of isle four, Destiny lost it. She doubled over and began laughing so hard tears flowed and her stomach began to cramp. Although Brock was amused at his embarrassing encounter, he quickly noticed that a couple of old ladies glared at him, not knowing that Destiny’s tears were caused by extreme laughter.

“Dee, darling, stop it,” Brock chuckled. “People are gonna think I’m making you cry.”

“You are sweetie, you are!”

As they headed down the highway, Destiny smiled and giggled to herself as she looked at her hulking husband behind the wheel of her little car. It had only been a few weeks since she had sold her sexy fire engine red Dodge Viper and bought her cute little Beetle from a friend of her aunt Belle.

“Thank you for the good endorphins back in the store, sweetie,” Destiny said.

“Glad my humiliation served to your delight,” Brock replied with a sarcastic smirk. Destiny couldn’t tell if he was being lighthearted or if there was some underlying anger in his tone. The couple were quiet for the next five minutes, only soft jazz on the radio sounding between them.

“How odd,” Destiny said, and then waited for Brock to respond. He didn’t. “I said, how odd.”

“I give up, what’s odd?” Brock replied. Destiny was now sure that Brock was feeling hostile to some degree.

“We’ve been married a couple years now and were both from the Twin city area, yet this is the first time we’re going back since we’ve met.”

“It’s not so odd,” Brock said with a shrug. “We were both estranged from our families in one way or another.”

“I guess,” Destiny replied with a shrug of her own.

“Are you gonna want to see your dad while we’re up there?” Brock asked.

“Not really,” she answered. “Unless you want to meet him.”

“Not really.”

 “Are you gonna wanna see any of your immediate family?”

“Nodda,” he replied emphatically.

“I might if you might.”

“Quinn, let’s just focus on the mission at hand,” Brock barked impatiently.

Destiny felt anger course through her, making her jaw clench. “Why are you calling me that?” She asked as calmly as she could.

“Huh?”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me Quinn. You know I don’t like it.”

Brock glanced at her meekly with puppy dog eyes, and she wondered if she sounded too hostile.

“Sorry,” Brock mumbled. “I didn’t know it was that big of a deal. It’s just, well, I feel sort of like I’m being pulled into this against my will. I’m scared of ending up in a situation like I was with those two punks a few weeks ago. I don’t like the ugly side of my nature that’s prone to violence. I like feeling the love and peace of God. I don’t understand why a supposed heaven sent mission would want to turn me into, well, the Joker. I guess that has been on my mind. So without really thinking about it, I guess I started calling you Quinn again. Once again, I’m sorry. I would never do anything purposely hurtful to you. Now I know how serious you are about being called that. Or not called that. You know what I mean.”

“I do, and I’m sorry for being so sensitive,” she said as she leaned over toward him and kissed his cheek. As she began to pull away, he clutched her chin and kissed her mouth. She laughed. “Brock, stop, you’re driving.”

“How about we pull over for a little while?” he asked as he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Fine with me, big boy,” Destiny purred seductively.

Brock glanced at her with a silly expression on his face and she giggled, knowing he was tempted.

“As much as I’d like to, we better just keep rolling.”

“You know, sweetie, bodyguarding Seven might be the premise for getting you two together. But mentoring Seven spiritually sounds like the real calling.”

Brock glanced lazily at his wife and yawned. “I don’t know which is worse, Seven’s pretty bitter. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do for him.”

“Let go and let God.”

Brock yawned. “It’s all I can do.”

“You seem tired.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I got up around one and looked at Seven’s podcasts until after four. That’s how I know he’s really bitter.”

“Do you want me to drive? I slept like a rock.”

“I know, you were snoring pretty good.”

“I was not, was I?”

“Don’t worry, you have the cutest snores ever. You kind of do this sweet little caw, caw type thing.”

“How embarrassing,” Destiny giggled. “So do you want me to drive?”

“Would you mind?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, thanks. I have the GPS set to Six’s place.”

“Shouldn’t we go to our motel first?”

“Didn’t I tell you that Six insisted we stay at his place?”

“But it’s a funeral home, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I don’t want to spend the night in a funeral home.”

“Oh come on, you don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

“Of course not, but…”

“Look, just one night. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Then we’ll figure something out.”

Destiny and Brock switched places. Three hours later they pulled into the drive of an old, large brick house.

“We’re really gonna sleep at a funeral home?” Destiny asked Brock with a wince as they made their way up the long driveway.

“We’ll be bedding down in the home part, not the funeral part,” Brock explained matter of fact.

 It looked like a huge haunted house, albeit well maintained. It sat on about a three or four acre lot with around two dozen big old oak trees scattered around the well-kept lawn. There was a six-foot black rod iron fence lining the front.  The home appeared to be three stories with a two-foot rod iron fence going around the entire roof. Four gargoyle statues stared down menacingly from each corner of the roof. The driveway up to the mini mansion was lined with some type of creepy mossy trees that formed a sinister looking partial tunnel.

Six’s 1959 Cadillac hearse was parked under a large carport structure that extended off the side of the home. A praying four-foot statue of The Virgin Mary was on the first corner of the roof of the carport.  Other than a garage that looked like it could fit about ten vehicles, the entire back yard was a parking lot. There were no cars in the lot, so Brock chose a close spot. As Brock shut the car off, Destiny happened to glance up to a single window at the top floor that presumably was an attic. The window was circular and had a piece of wood trim going horizontal and a piece that was vertical dividing the glass into four sections. A very pale woman with large eyes stared intently at them. A creamy colored scarf was draped over her head, framing her alabaster face. A chill ran up and down Destiny’s spine. This definitely was not a typical funeral home!