“I’m serious,” Alexis Monroe said from the back seat, fanning herself with a road atlas. “If we don’t see a gas station in the next ten miles, I’m going to start drinking the radiator fluid. And I will not be held responsible for the consequences.”
“Film festival,” Cali said, handing over a credit card for the gas. “Out at the old Starview Drive-in.” cali carter alexis monroe jessa rhodes
Back in the car, the mood had shifted. The joking felt thinner now, stretched over something uneasy. “I’m serious,” Alexis Monroe said from the back
A woman with a clipboard approached them. “Cali Carter? You’re our guests of honor. We have a trailer for you behind the screen—basic, but clean. The first screening starts at sundown. It’s a lost print of The Bat People . You’ll love it.” “Out at the old Starview Drive-in
Then, halfway through the second reel, the projector stuttered. The screen went white. The crowd murmured. And from the darkness beyond the last row of cars, a figure stepped into the light.
They piled out anyway. The air smelled of dust, hot asphalt, and something sweetly rotten from a dumpster behind the station. Alexis took a picture for her Instagram story. “Desert vibes,” she captioned it. “Pray for us.”
