Working Date

by Eleanor Dax

  Not really, but Ethan said, “Yep.” Ducking into the supply closet, he filled a bucket with soapy water and grabbed the mop. On the floor again, he could feel Molly's eyes tracking him.

  “Someone's got a fire under their ass,” she muttered.

  “Huh?” Looking up, Ethan watched her shuffle through a bundle of twenties, lips moving silently as she counted.

  Finally, Molly asked the big question. “You got a date tonight or what?”

  Ethan considered denying it, but just thinking of Beau brought a smile to his face. He admitted, “Kind of.”

  Pausing her count, Molly scrutinized him over the rims of her narrow cat's eye frames. “For real?”

  Turning his focus back to the dirty black floor, Ethan shrugged. “I don't know. I guess. It's a phone date. We're just going to talk.”

  “What else would you do on a phone?” She blinked at him, wheels turning. “Is this that guy from the other night?”

  Ethan was sure his face said everything.

  Molly whistled. “Nice one, babe.”

  Ethan agreed.

  “Good for you. Damn.” Bundling the cash together, she stuffed it all into a thick envelope. “I want a phone date.”

  “You're married.”

  “So?”

  She let him cut early.

  Ethan jumped in his car and drove home. He called Beau.

  The call went straight to voicemail. He frowned and tried again.

  Voicemail.

  That sort of took the wind out of his sails. He fired off a quick text and fixed himself a light dinner. A half hour later he tried again and left a message this time.

  “Hey. Maybe you fell asleep. It's okay, you can make it up to me.” He paused, replaying that in his head. He tried another tack. “Anyways, I'm going to bed myself. Guess I'll try you tomorrow.”

  He ended the call and sat on his bed for a long moment, part of him still holding out hope that his phone's display would light up for him.

  It didn't and Ethan went to bed.

  Chapter 6

  Two days later Ethan again caught himself checking his phone. With a scowl, he tossed it out of reach.

  It was Tuesday evening. As he stared at his latest project, he couldn't help but remember the text message Beau had received after they visited the radio tower, the one from Preston. And then there had been that business the following night, Beau clearly waiting to check his phone when Ethan washed up.

  Was Beau puttering around at home with his beloved on-again-off-again? Had he shared just what it was he'd gotten up to in Ansel or kept the details to himself? And what was so appealing about a guy like Preston, anyway? He wore a tie to work. So what?

  Ethan went to the brewhouse for dinner. Molly was working and clocked his mood the second he sat down.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “What's wrong?”

  Ethan shrugged. “I don't know. Nothing.”

  “Come on,” she pressed. “Is it your guy? How did your date go?”

  “Not great.”

  “Did he breathe into the receiver?”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “He didn't breathe at all. He didn't even pick up.”

  With a grimace, she said, “Ooh. Sorry. Hang on.” She left Ethan to brood over his beer while she took an order a few seats down. She came back. “So what happened?”

  Ethan spread his hands. “Nothing. And it's been two days and he hasn't gotten back or anything.” He folded his arms over the bar and stared gloomily at the wall. “I don't know, I feel stupid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I got all excited. I thought - ” Ethan cut himself off, muttering, “I don't know what I thought.”

  “How do you know this guy, anyway?”

  “We knew each other when I lived in San Francisco.”

  “Same sex club?” she asked dryly.

  In spite of himself, Ethan sputtered a laugh. “Perv. No.”

  “You hook up?” She waggled her eyebrows.

  Subdued, he answered, “More than hooked up. I was with him for over a year.”

  Her expression smoothed into something more sympathetic. “Oh. What happened?”

  “Well...” Ethan hesitated. Molly's perception saved him from having to explain.

  She asked frankly, “This have anything to do with that thing?”

  Ethan's smile was grim. He liked Molly. They closed the bar down often together, went drinking every once in a while. She and her husband Pete had him over for dinner at least once a month, and invited him to winter solstice. Of course they talked. The only people who knew more about the whole experience with Drop were Beau and his therapist. “Yep,” he said and drank his beer.

  “Hm.” She went away again only to return a few minutes later with a sandwich. “Eat up. So he was a dick then and he's a dick now?”

  Even before she finished speaking, Ethan shook his head. “No. That's the thing. He's super considerate. He's nice. He's-”

  “Oh, he's nice.” Molly was unimpressed, folding her arms.

  Maybe nice wasn't the right word. Nice was superficial. Then Ethan thought of a better one. “He's kind.”

  Molly's expression turned thoughtful. “Hang on.” She left again. Ethan took a couple bites of his sandwich and watched the TV. Silent sports commentary with shoddy captions. His thoughts turned inward.

  The more he thought about it, the whole situation really was very un-Beau-like. It seemed totally out of character for him to show the interest he'd shown Ethan only to take the coward's way out by ignoring his calls. The more Ethan considered it, the more it bothered him. He couldn't help but feel like he was missing something.

  “Eating alone tonight?”

  The voice surprised him mid-chew. Tearing his gaze from the TV, he found Ryan hovering beside him.

  Gesturing to an empty bar stool, Ryan asked, “Mind if I sit?”

  Privately, Ethan did, but couldn't bring himself to say so. “It's all yours.”

  “So where's your friend?”

  “Huh?” Ethan played dumb, taking another bite of his sandwich. It was sound logic: if he kept his mouth full, he wouldn't have to talk.

  “Your friend from the other night. You two looked awfully cozy.”

  Moodily, Ethan answered, “I guess.”

  Ryan held his hands up in a defensive gesture and Ethan felt a twinge of resentment.

  “O-okay,” said Ryan, eyes widening. “I can take a hint. It's just that you were looking pretty tight with Mystery Man and you haven't answered my calls for three days. I thought we were going to make plans.”

  With a jolt, Ethan recalled the message he'd received the morning Beau left. He'd totally forgot. There had been at least one text since then. “Shit, I'm sorry. I've been really distracted lately.”

  “I'll bet.” The words were light, but Ethan could tell Ryan was disappointed.

  “I'm really sorry,” he said. “I know Beau from way back and hadn't seen him in a while. More than a while. We caught up that one night and that was it.” He elected not to go into detail, offering lamely, “I've been working a lot this week.” Studying Ryan's gaze, Ethan could swear he detected confusion, however briefly.

  Just as quickly, Ryan's expression smoothed. He looked slightly abashed. “It's okay. It's just I know he's still in town and assumed it was because of you.”

  Shaking his head, Ethan said, “No-he left a couple days ago.”

  Ryan shrugged. “All right. Maybe I heard wrong.”

  Now it was Ethan's turn to be confused. “Huh?”

  Still looking embarrassed, Ryan explained, “I ran into Louisa Garrett at the Farmer's Market. She said they haven't seen him in days and all his stuff is still in the room. She thinks he skipped, though I don't know why he'd leave all his things.”

  Ethan stared at him. The bits of sandwich in his mouth tasted like sand. With some effort, he swallowed them down. “Of course they haven't seen him,” he said. “He went home.”

  “Well, if he did, he left all
his stuff behind and they're still charging him for the room.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ethan realized his voice was too loud. Lowering it, he demanded, “Is his car still there?”

  Ryan was beginning to look like he regretted starting this conversation. “I wouldn't know.”

  “You mean Louisa didn't mention it?” Ethan asked sarcastically. Getting up, he dug around his pockets for money. He threw few crumpled bills onto the bar and said, “Do you have your car?”

  Soon they were packed into Ryan's jeep and headed for the motel.

  “Wait, wait, wait. He's here for work?” Ryan was a very careful driver. He made full stops at all stop signs and right-on-reds. Meanwhile, Ethan thrummed in the passenger seat.

  “It's insane how slow we're going,” he said, gripping his seat.

  Ryan gave him an exasperated look. “Can you please relax? I'm the driver, it's my car, and I'm doing you a favor. So you can just-?”

  “I know, I know. I'm sorry. Thanks again for doing this.” Ethan realized he wasn't sure he'd thanked Ryan initially.

  “You're welcome.” They drove in silence for a moment and were almost at the motel when Ryan repeated his earlier question.

  “Yes, he was here for work,” Ethan answered. “He's a detective.”

  Ryan was silent for a prolonged moment. Ethan could only guess what he was thinking. Then Ryan asked slowly, “He's a cop?” The distaste was clear.

  “Private investigator,” Ethan corrected. As they turned into the small parking lot, his heart sank. There were only a few cars in the lot and Beau's blue Audi wasn't among them. “He's not here.” He chewed his lip. “Shit.”

  “Maybe he's investigating.” Ryan studied him from the driver's seat, arm resting casually over the wheel.

  It was possible, but Ethan had a bad feeling. “The other morning he left early because he wanted to look into something, then get back to the hotel because he was going home that day.” Ethan realized what he'd said after he said it. He might as well have given Ryan the play-by-play and included what positions he and Beau had used.

  To his credit, Ryan kept whatever comments he might have had to himself. Instead, he asked neutrally, “Look into what?”

  He told himself it wasn't based in anything and that he didn't know, but in his gut Ethan did. He knew where Beau had gone. When he shared the idea, Ryan hesitated.

  “I don't know. Honestly, this isn't how I wanted to spend my night.”

  “Please, it's not far. Just drive us up. If his car is there it will be obvious. Right?”

  “If it's not there, we're leaving. As in, I don't want you getting out of the car to look around. Understand?”

  Ethan wasn't so sure about that, but quickly agreed. “Absolutely. You're the driver.”

  Ryan's mouth formed a thin line. He drove them up.

  As soon as they crested the hill, the jeep's headlights lighted upon a familiar vehicle: Beau's Audi, its electric blue exterior dulled under a heavy layer of dirt.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh, my god,” said Ethan.

  Ryan asked grimly, “I take it that's his?” Without waiting for a response, he warned, “This could all still be a misunderstanding.”

  Ethan was out of the jeep before they even fully parked. “Beau?” he shouted. Quickly, he checked the Audi. It was empty.

  “He in there?” Ryan asked.

  “Do you have flashlight?”

  “Uh, maybe.”

  “Will you please check?” Ethan knew he sounded impatient, but didn't Ryan understand what was going on? It had been days-days-that Beau could have been stranded. He could be lost or hurt or worse.

  The memory of that terrible black maw came back to him. Beau couldn't have gone inside. He wouldn't have.

  But with a sinking feeling Ethan knew that wasn't right. Oh, yes Beau would have gone inside. If he were chasing a lead, he would go pretty much anywhere. Ethan doubted that had changed.

  Closing the trunk, Ryan tested the light and handed it over. It was a heavy maglite. Ethan hefted it in his palm.

  “I think we should call for help,” he said.

  Going by Ryan's expression, that was the last thing he wanted to hear. “For real?”

  Ethan directed the bright beam of light to the crumbling cement tower. For an instant, it didn't look like the tower anymore. It looked like... Shaking himself, Ethan said, “There's a door around the other side. It was open the other day when we were here. I'm going to check.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Ethan questioned them. What the hell was he doing? He'd barely held himself together there last week and it had still been daylight. And now he was seeing things.

  As if privy to Ethan's own thoughts, Ryan said, “Whoa, Ethan. Let's slow down. You just said yourself we should call the police. Why don't we do that and let the professionals handle this?” Ryan's phone was already in his hand. “This place has been abandoned since I was in middle school. Who knows what's inside?”

  Ethan chewed his lip. The thing was, Ryan wasn't wrong. On some level, Ethan even agreed. But no way was he going to just stand around doing nothing when Beau needed him.

  Ryan held his phone at arm's length above his head, frowning at it. “I can't get a signal.”

  Hearing his own doubts echoed back to him in Ryan's voice had only strengthened Ethan's resolve. Now this settled it. “Then get one. I'm going in.”

  “Ethan?” Ryan called after him.

  “Just get help!”

  Heart pounding, Ethan rounded the tower. The door was right where he'd left it. And why wouldn't it be? Kicking it open, he swept the beam around from just outside. He saw the desk, the filing cabinet, and braced himself for the creepy black mouth of the interior doorway.

  But it was gone, replaced by a grimy green door that was firmly shut.

  Could have been the wind.

  That was a nice thought, but in his gut Ethan didn't believe it. He remembered all too well that feeling of being watched the week before. He had stood in this very spot and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

  No, it wasn't the wind that had blown that door shut. Someone had been to the tower. Beau and maybe someone else. As Ethan stared at the door, his feet felt rooted to the ground.

  But had Beau stood around letting his fears get the better of him when Ethan needed help four years ago? Ethan was willing to bet not.

  Careful to sidestep any debris, Ethan crossed the room and put his hand on the cool metal knob of the door. As it turned easily under his hand, he felt spikes of elation and dread. The combination set his teeth on edge. As he pushed, the door screamed on rusty hinges, sending a sick chill through him. Once it was open, he froze, listening.

  The building was quiet, but not silent. He heard quick, furtive little sounds, animals rustling and a slow but insistent drip from somewhere deep within. He swept the maglite around and found old office furniture, moldy books and papers. There was another door ahead, and compared to the rest of the room, the area around it was suspiciously clear. His stomach squeezed into a knot of fear. Someone had obviously been here, and recently.

  This was crazy. For a dizzying instant, Ethan was again in two places at once: here at the radio tower and five years ago in a rotting warehouse by the San Francisco Bay.

  He shook those thoughts away. He wasn't some victim anymore. He'd survived and was stronger for it. Now Beau could be in real trouble and the only person around to help was Ethan, so he needed to suck it up and keep moving.

  He opened the next door and paused.

  The maglite revealed a long cement staircase that descended deeper into the mountain. The beam of light barely hit bottom and Ethan's stomach dropped.

  “Beau?” he shouted. His voice bounced off cement walls, echoing in his ears.

  Pointed silence was the only reply. A shiver crawled up Ethan's spine and he tried again. “Hello?”

  Still nothing, but as he listened Ethan grew more certain that lack o
f response was deliberate. Someone was down there. Hesitating at the top of the steps, he called quickly over his shoulder, “Ryan?” but heard no reply. At this point he could only trust that Ryan had either found a signal and was in the middle of requesting assistance, or that he was set on trying to do so.

  Stepping carefully and using the rail, Ethan began the climb down. Midway to the bottom, he froze, straining his ears.

  He thought he'd heard something, but it was gone. He waited and there it was again, a deep sound like a man's voice. No words that Ethan could discern, however. Just a low, wordless murmur. And was it actually familiar or was that just his own head messing with him?

  There was one way to find out. He kept going.

  At the bottom, he turned in a slow circle with the maglite, half expecting some crazed hill person to jump out in front of him. The thought made him even more tense and he at once scolded but also braced himself in the event that it did happen.

  At the bottom of the stairs was a large, sprawling space. Desks, chairs, tables and cabinets. A scatter of rotting mattresses. The scent of urine and human funk hit him hard. Tugging his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth, he swept the beam around the room. Shadows leaped and shivered. It was next to impossible to tell what he was seeing half the time.

  “You're not him.”

  The words came from behind him, faint, shaky, and wondering. Ethan still jumped about a foot in the air.

  “Jesus!” he pointed the light in the direction of the voice. What he found sent chills down his spine and his heart into his throat. Long, scraggly hair, a pinched and dirty face, wet, shining eyes.

  “Help me, please.”

  Ethan felt frozen on the spot. Then common sense took root and he realized the awful specter was a woman. A girl, he amended as he stepped carefully closer.

  Her voice shook. “I just want to go home. Please. I want my mom and dad.”

  The passing seconds afforded him a closer look at the state of her and it wasn't good. The yellow dress she wore was dirty and stained, her dark hair matted. Dainty sandals had done little to protect her feet, now blackened and scabbed. A rush of feeling came over him, alongside a the ability to speak. Lowering his voice, Ethan asked, “How long have you been down here?”