“Please!” he yelled. “Let me be!”
Entering the hallway, she figured the storage room would probably be to the left since she didn’t remember seeing anything like it in the other direction. But was the man right? Would she only be changing the tank for her own peace of mind?
As much as she wanted to deny it, she knew the answer to the question.
She found Riley waiting outside a minute later.
“Finally!” Riley said. “Did you find anyone?”
Martina shook her head. “You were right. We were too late.”
The Webers’ place was located in a small housing tract off Ridgecrest Boulevard, almost due south of the high school. Riley was leaning forward, nearly touching the dashboard as they rounded the corner onto her street.
Her house was near the middle of the block.
“I don’t see our car,” Martina said. Mr. Weber had used Martina’s parents’ car to bring Laurie back to Ridgecrest.
“Dad probably parked it in the garage,” Riley said.
Martina didn’t saying anything.
As the car rolled to a stop in the driveway, Riley threw her door open and jumped out.
“Hey, wait!” Martina yelled before hopping out after her. “Wait!”
Riley stopped and looked back.
“Maybe I should go in first,” Martina suggested.
“Why?”
Did Martina really have to explain it? She stared at her friend, hoping to silently convey what she meant.
“I’m fine,” Riley said. “Whatever we find, I’ll deal with it. But I’m not waiting out here.”
She tried the front door but it was locked. Before Martina could ask if she had a key, Riley sprinted toward the corner of the house.
“We can get in through my window,” she yelled.
Her bedroom window was located along the side, right before the point where the backyard fence met the wall. With practiced ease, she popped the screen out, and pushed in on her window so that even though it was locked, the latch cleared the frame.
“I take it you’ve done this before,” Martina said as they climbed inside.
With a quick nod, Riley moved to her bedroom door. “Dad? Laurie?” she called as she raced into the hallway.
The search was quick and unsatisfying. No one was home.
“Where are they?” Riley asked. She paused mid-step and whipped her head around. “We didn’t check the garage.” She ran through the kitchen, opened the garage door, and disappeared inside.
When Martina entered the garage a moment later, she found Riley standing in the empty space.
“Why aren’t they here?” Riley asked. “If they’re not at the hospital and not home, where…where…”
Martina thought her friend might start crying again, but Riley’s eyes remained dry.
“Maybe he saw that the hospital was too busy,” Martina said, “and took her to Bakersfield, or even Palmdale.”
She didn’t actually believe that, but she felt compelled to give her friend some hope. What she really thought was that they probably would never know.
Riley didn’t seem to hear her, though, as she continued to stand in the middle of the room.
Martina gave her another moment, then walked over and put an arm around Riley’s shoulder. Slowly she guided her friend back into the house and sat her on the couch.
“Let me get you some water,” she said, heading into the kitchen.
She opened a cabinet looking for a glass, but instead found bottles of tequila and rum and whiskey. Though she had never really taken to alcohol herself, she knew it had a way of relaxing people. Not knowing if one type would be better than another, she pulled down the closest bottle, Absolut Vodka, found a glass, and poured a healthy dose into it.
Back in the living room, Riley was still catatonic. Martina raised the glass to the girl’s lips and dribbled a little into her friend’s mouth. Riley sputtered, pulled away, and looked at Martina.
“What the hell is that?” she asked.
“Vodka.” Martina lifted the glass again. “Come on, another sip. It’ll make you feel better.”
Riley scrunched up her face as Martina helped her take another sip, then she took control of the glass and tipped it all the way up so everything poured in quickly. When she was done, she squeezed her eyes shut for a second, her body tensing.
“That was not pleasant,” she said.
“You want another?” Martina asked.
“No way.”
Martina scrutinized her. “How do you feel?”
Riley considered the question. “Better, I guess.” She paused, her eyes widening a bit. “Yeah, definitely better.”
Martina stood up. “I’ll get you some water now.”
“Thanks.”
When Martina returned, she found Riley lolled back against the couch, asleep. She repositioned her so that Riley was lying on the couch, and then draped a blanket over her. Finding a piece of paper in the kitchen, she wrote a note and put it on the coffee table so that Riley would find it if she woke up.
Running out for a bit. Won’t be long.
Martina
She wanted to check out the hunch she’d had on the highway, and hoped to God she was right.
A few minutes later, she was heading west on Ridgecrest Boulevard, and not long after that, she passed the city limits into an area where the houses were more spread out, with acres of desert land between them. When she reached Jack’s Ranch Road, she turned north, then east again at Horseshoe Lane. The house she was looking for was on the right side, about a quarter mile from the intersection. Like many of the homes in the area, it was two stories and surrounded by trees planted when the house had been built.
She tried not to get her hopes up as she turned onto the dirt driveway, but she couldn’t help herself.
Please let me be right.
Nearing the house, she noticed something odd along the side that hadn’t been there last time she visited. It looked like someone had been digging.
She stopped, turned off the engine, and climbed out of the car. The stillness of the house made her realize she was probably in for a disappointment. A part of her wanted to get back in the car and drive away. At least that way, the possibility of being right still existed.
Just check, she told herself.
The desert sand crunched under her feet as she approached the house. Her plan was to go right up to the front door and check if it was open, but she was pulled off course as she got a better look at the disturbed ground she’d noticed while driving up.
There were five roughly rectangular mounds of dirt, side by side.
Graves, she realized. They couldn’t be anything else.
Five graves, not six. Of course, the last to die wouldn’t be able to dig his own. Still…
“Noreen?” she called. “Noreen, are you here?”
She jogged to the small covered stoop at the front door and tried the handle. It was locked, so she pounded on the door.
“Noreen! Are you home?”
As she was about to knock again, there was an explosion above her and several dozen thud-thud-thuds on the grass behind her.
“Whoever you are, get the hell out of here!” The familiar voice came from above.
“Noreen! What are you doing?”
“Get out of here!” The gun blasted again.
“It’s me, you idiot! Martina! Stop shooting at me!”
A pause. “Martina?”
“Yes! Why are you shooting?”
“You’re…you’re not sick?”
“No!”
Martina decided to chance looking out from under the porch’s roof. Her friend was leaning out of a second-story window, a double-barreled shotgun pointed at the ground.
“Martina!”