The dead bodies were freakier than the usual dead-two-headed-fish and soda bottle crap S.T. usually saw when he looked down, but the scary shit wasn't visible. As long as they didn't all decide to get up at once, it wasn't bad. They were making good time across the lake.

"Leash, definitely. Bet we can't persuade you to play hooky and come along." He didn't really want a bitchy talking skeleton sidekick, but the answer might tell them what Landel had over the guy. Maybe just the same one they all had. Wake up back here. Stolen senses instead of bacon and pancakes. Temporary pleasures.

Stinky wasn't the worst nickname he'd ever picked up, but he couldn't just let that stand. He smirked at Scott, and then leaned back, closing his eyes. He pulled a pen out of his pocket. Then spun it over one knuckle with an ease that could -- and had -- hijacked the attention of an entire Fortune 500 board meeting. Second verse, same as the first.

The fifth time, it flipped off his hand and went straight for Charon's collarbone, aiming to play xylophone from the inside on the ricochet.