chapter 3

The kidney-bean shaped pool had been a bust. Theo had eyed it with the suspicion usually reserved for a rival crime family, and Remy's attempts to convince him to "just dip a toe" had been met with a glare that could curdle milk. She'd settled for a solitary, enthusiastic splash, leaving him glowering from the safety of a plastic patio chair, likely mentally sanitizing the entire motel. Now, rumbling westward in Indiana, Betsy was staging a rebellion.

It started subtly, with a new, high-pitched whine that sounded suspiciously like a frustrated badger. Remy, ever optimistic, simply turned up her eclectic playlist. "Just Betsy singing her little heart out, Theo!" she announced, belting out an off-key chorus of a power ballad.

Theo, seated rigidly in the passenger seat, rubbed his temples. "That 'singing,' donna, sounds like a dying animal being fed through a wood chipper. It's not normal."

"Normal is boring," Remy declared, swerving slightly to avoid what she swore was a particularly judgmental tumbleweed. "Besides, Betsy's got character. Unlike some people." She shot a pointed look at Theo, who was already running a mental checklist of every car rental service within a hundred-mile radius.

The whine escalated into a full-blown shriek. Then, with a dramatic shudder, Betsy lurched, coughed, and the air conditioning, already more of a suggestion than a reality, sputtered its last breath.

"Oh, Betsy!" Remy gasped, genuinely distressed. "No! Not in this heat!" She slapped the dashboard affectionately. "Come on, girl, don't you dare give up on me. We have aliens to find!"

Theo let out a low, guttural curse in Italian. His dark grey eyes narrowed, scanning the desolate highway stretching ahead. The mid-May sun beat down mercilessly, and the last thing he needed was to be stranded in the middle of nowhere with a broken-down vehicle and an increasingly peculiar driver. "This piece of shit car!" he spat, the words cutting through the sudden silence.

"Hey!" Remy retorted, affronted. "Betsy tries her best! She's just… emotionally sensitive." She popped the hood, revealing a confusing tangle of wires and rust. "Hold on, I got this."

Theo watched, aghast, as Remy pulled a sparkly scrunchie from her wrist, tied back her long blonde hair, and then began to talk to the engine. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Feeling a bit sluggish? Is it the timing belt again? Just give me a sign, Betsy-boo." She poked at a hose with a stick she'd found on the roadside.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Theo demanded, his voice dangerously low. "You're talking to it like it's a dog."

"Well, you talk to your gun like it's your best friend, so who's weirder?" Remy shot back. "Besides, Betsy responds to positive reinforcement! She's very sensitive." She gave a loose wire a gentle tug. The engine sputtered, groaned, and then, miraculously, started up again with a violent cough, the check engine light glowing brighter than ever.

"See?" Remy beamed, wiping grease on her jeans. "Magic!"

Theo stared. He'd seen men break under torture and not look as bewildered as he did at that moment. "Get in. Before it explodes."

Betsy's recovery was short-lived. The next few days were punctuated by increasingly frequent bouts of sputtering, lurching, and a disconcerting smell of burning oil. Remy's roadside repairs became more elaborate and bizarre: she tried pouring lukewarm lemonade into a mysterious reservoir, convinced a loose wire to stay put with a piece of chewed gum, and once, actually attempted to "realign the cosmic energy" of the engine with a crystal she'd bought at a New Age shop.

Each failure pushed Theo closer to his breaking point. His constant vigilance against external threats was now compounded by the internal threat of mechanical failure. He'd spend hours on his burner phone making hushed calls, trying to arrange a new mode of transport without revealing too much about his current, highly embarrassing situation.

Then, it happened. They were just outside a small, dusty town, the sign for "World's Largest Spatula" just visible in the distance – Remy's next bucket list item. She was mid-sentence, enthusiastically describing something she saw on the history channel, when Betsy emitted a final, shuddering death rattle. Steam billowed from under the hood, followed by a sad, metallic clunk. And then, silence. Utter, complete, final silence.

Remy stared at the dashboard. The check engine light had gone dark, a final act of defiance. "Well," she said, her voice oddly serene. "I think Betsy just retired."

Theo didn't say a word. He just closed his eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and pulled out his burner phone. His fingers flew over the keypad, rattling off a string of rapid, intense commands in fluent Italian, his accent thick with fury and frustration. He glanced at Remy, who was now patting Betsy's deflated tire, murmuring, "Good job, girl. You earned your rest."

Less than two hours later, a gleaming, enormous luxury RV rumbled into view. It was a beast of a machine, tinted windows reflecting the desert sun, sleek and silent where Betsy had been loud and ramshackle. It looked less like a recreational vehicle and more like a mobile fortress. A nondescript sedan followed behind it, two well-dressed men emerging to quickly and efficiently transfer Remy's haphazard belongings from Betsy's interior into the RV, all under Theo's sharp, watchful eye.

Remy stood by Betsy, mouth agape. "Is that… for us?" she whispered, staring at the RV. "Did I just... manifest this?"

Theo, already moving her bags towards the RV's spacious door, spared her a single, withering glance. "Get in. We're wasting time." There was a subtle satisfaction in his voice, a hint of his control returning.

Remy cautiously entered the RV after grabbing her favorite items and the rest of her stuff from Betsy. Her jaw dropped. It was like stepping into a five-star hotel suite. A full kitchen with polished countertops, a plush living area, a private bathroom (with a real shower!), and a king-sized bed. She practically floated through it, touching everything with wide-eyed wonder.

"A real toilet!" she gasped, rushing into the bathroom. "Theo, this has a real toilet! And a shower! I might weep!"

Theo leaned against the counter, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "It's an RV, Remy. It has everything. Now, if you're done marveling at the plumbing, perhaps you can drive it." He tossed her a set of keys, significantly heavier and more technologically advanced than Betsy's.

Remy grabbed them, her eyes still scanning the luxurious interior. "Oh, this is going to be good," she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Betsy, you've been replaced by a palace on wheels. Don't worry, I'll visit your ghost sometimes." She skipped towards the driver's seat, already planning how to turn this mobile mansion into her own chaotic, comfortable castle.

Theo watched her, a knot of dread forming in his stomach, knowing that his new "comfort" would quickly be filled with Remy's particular brand of madness.