Dead End

by C. P. Rider

  I boosted him up and placed his paws on the door. One was white, the other brown. His fur was wiry, about ten different shades of silver, brown, and white, and he had the look of a dog much older than he was.

  Distinguished, I said when someone commented on it, not old.

  To accent his dignified appearance, Toby wore a different bow tie every day. I made them myself with bits of fabric and elastic, and we kept them in a plastic bag in his doggy backpack. He liked the ties, stood at attention at the foot of the bed every morning waiting for me to put a fresh one on his collar.

  "Did you write on your dog blog today?"

  "No." I scratched Toby’s ears and his tail wagged. "Nothing new to blog about. ‘Hey everybody, it's day five thousand-million-billion of fleeing for our lives. Oh, and my mom let me look out the window.'"

  "Lupita."

  "It's okay." It wasn't, but what was I supposed to say? It wasn't Dad's fault the Kilshaw Agency was after me. It was my stupid ability's fault.

  A minute of awkward silence stretched into two, then three. Dad finally broke it.

  "Norfolk."

  I smiled. Time for a round of Guess Toby's Breed. This was a game we'd played since adopting him and it never got old.

  "Cairn terrier," I said.

  "Possibly, but I'd like to suggest Doberman as a breed you have yet to consider."

  "Noted, although I was thinking more along the lines of Rottweiler. Mixed with Yorkie."

  "Norfolk and Yorkie," Dad countered.

  "Pfft. Maybe a smidge of Yorkie, but no Norfolk. Look at this guy. He's so Scottish he should be wearing a kilt. Definitely Cairn."

  Dad laughed. "You've got me there."

  A little farther down the road, I switched on the truck's radio. I had zero expectations of finding anything worth listening to this far out of the city. After a few moments of heavy static, I could hear what sounded like a news story coming through. I slowly raised the volume, leaning close to the speaker to decipher what was being said.

  "…ten more carcasses found. Law enforcement states that they are doing everything they can to find the perpetrators, human or animal. Zoology experts have been consulted to look into what sort of native Arizonian animal could shear a full-grown cow in half…"

  Dad twisted the station selector knob. "There has to be something else on."

  He landed on a country station playing an old Garth Brooks song. The Dance. His hand shook a little as it hovered over the radio. My Mexican American mom had loved mariachi music while my Texas-born dad preferred classic rock, but the one music they could always agree on was country. Dad liked George Strait. Mom had bought all Garth's albums—the last one a few days before she died.

  He turned up the volume.

  I rummaged in my backpack for my iPod cord—the truck was too old to use wireless—but I didn't offer to change the music. Not yet.

  I missed her, too.

  When the song was over, I smooched Toby's scruffy head. "Where are we going, Dad?"

  "A café." He gave me his handsome grin again. There was something wrong with that smile. Something I didn't trust.

  Icy fingers stroked the bones of my spine. "Dad?"

  "Here." He flipped down his visor and tossed me a white plastic card. It was the size and texture of a credit card, but there were no numbers on it, only a name in raised letters edged in gold.

  "The One Way Café?" I handed it back. "Where's that?"

  His smile drooped. "If we're lucky, where it was when your mom and I saw it last. Right smack in the middle of nowhere."

  "Is that why we came to Arizona? To see this café you and Mom used to go to?"

  "No. I hadn't intended… I'd hoped…" He cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders. "Loops, I'm taking you to your grandfathers."

  Before she died, my mom had told me stories about her fathers, Grandpa Hollister and Abuelo Emilio. About how much they had loved her, how sad she had been to leave them, and how she hoped they would be able to meet me someday.

  Even though I was excited to finally see them, I couldn't help but be suspicious of the timing. "Why?"

  "Thought you wanted to meet them. Aren't you always asking about your grandpas?"

  Nice deflection, Dad. How dumb did he think I was? "I thought they lived in Europe or something. Mom said they lived too far for us to visit."

  "They live on the other side of the café."

  "In Arizona? That's only one state away from California where we've lived since forever. Why have we waited this long to visit them?"

  Dad let out another long sigh. "It's complicated."

  3

  The One Way Café was a round-edged rectangle off the highway in the middle of nothing. No mountains, no valleys, nothing remotely resembling a town. It was painted with grime and dust, so that what was once a bright red exterior now looked dark and wet, like congealing blood.

  "You're being dramatic," Dad said, when I told him. "It's those fantasy books you read."

  "Urban fantasy, and what does it look like to you?"

  The grim look from before returned. "Safety."

  That was an odd thing to say and I started to tell him so, but he was already out of the truck, one hand shading his eyes as he stared at the dirty gray ribbon of highway behind us.

  Dad never talked about his ability. He once told me that, compared with what my mother and I could do, it was hardly impressive at all. But it had gotten us out of some tough spots, and was the only reason the people from the Kilshaw Agency hadn't caught up with us yet.

  "Can you see them?"

  "Yes."

  "How close are they?"

  "Thirty miles. Too close." His voice cracked, and my heart started beating faster.

  "Dad?"

  "Get your things. Toby's too." He strode onto the highway, ten feet from the back bumper of the truck, hiking boots scuffing against the grainy asphalt. Shaded his eyes again. His special vision worked better on long flat stretches, which was why we'd kept to the desert when we started running. At least, that's what I'd thought before he mentioned my grandfathers. Now I wasn't sure why he'd brought us out this way.

  I glanced at the abandoned diner. "Are my grandfathers meeting us here?"

  "They don't know you're coming." He jogged to me, grabbed my suitcase. "Honey, they don't actually know…" He looked to the right and jumped a little. "Twenty miles now. Come on."

  We picked around loose bushes and yellowed brush and dragged our luggage to the front door. I made a circle on the dusty window with my fingers and peeked inside. Red vinyl stools edged in rusted chrome lined a long counter. Six matching vinyl booths rested beneath six windows, similarly coated with sticky dust. The only thing missing was one of those old-timey jukeboxes.

  And people, of course.

  "This looks like it would have been a cool place. You know, sixty or seventy years ago. Are you sure this is the right spot? I don't see a sign."

  "Loops." Behind me, I heard my suitcase drop. Heard Dad's intake of breath. Heard my panicked heart pounding in my ears.

  "I'll come for you as soon as I can."

  I spun around. Dad held Toby under one arm, and reached for me with the other. Hugged me tight. So tight I couldn't breathe. Then he kissed the top of my head, whispered, "I love you, Loops," and opened the door of the abandoned café. He gently set Toby on the cracked and filthy linoleum floor.

  "He doesn't like to get his paws dirty." There were tears running down my cheeks, but I couldn't figure out why. It was as if my eyes knew something the rest of me didn't.

  "Scoot, Toby." Dad tossed my suitcase and backpack through the door, slung Toby's backpack on top of it. Toby wagged his tail and barked at his belongings, probably reminding me to change his tie.

  "Make sure you hold onto him," Dad said.

  "But where's your luggage?"

  "I … I can't go with you guys."

  Black spots danced in front of my eyes. "I don't understand. What's happening?"

  "
It's all right. Just go inside, honey. Shut the door."

  "Come with us."

  He shook his head. "I meant what I said. I can't. I'll follow when I can, but, for now, this is the safest place in the world—safest place for you."

  "So … what? You're just going to leave Toby and me in this abandoned café in the middle of nowhere?"

  "Your mother wanted you here."

  "What are you talking about? Mom is gone. And now you're leaving, too." Tears poured down my face, and now I knew why. "You say you're coming back, but you really aren't, are you?"

  Red splashed across his cheeks like an instant sunburn and tears welled in his eyes. "I will do everything in my power to get to you, but I don't know if I can. Someday you'll understand. I hope."

  "No. No, I won't understand." An explosion of desperate panic burst inside me. I crossed my arms over my chest and hugged myself … as miles below the earth something rumbled. It came up through the soles of my sneakers and rattled my bones.

  Dad planted his feet and held out his arms as if to brace himself. "Don't lose control, Maria Guadalupe." He only called me by my given name when he was dead serious. "Relax, honey. Breathe. Just breathe."

  Relax? He was abandoning me in the middle of nowhere and he wanted me to relax?

  Dad peered at the highway. "They're close. You have to go inside now."

  "No." The rumbling beneath me continued to build until the truck swayed back and forth and the framework of the old café creaked.

  "Loops." He swung around, his gaze settling on my expression. He froze. Sweat broke out on his forehead and upper lip. It looked like golden beads on his white skin in the brilliant morning sunlight.

  "You can't just leave me here."

  He opened his mouth, closed it. Cursed and kicked a rock so hard it skipped through the dried grass and onto the buttery smooth sand, sending concentric circles rippling as if it were the still surface of a lake.

  "Please, don't go, Dad. Please."

  "I have no choice. Not anymore."

  "Why?" Tears clogged my throat. "Why would you abandon me?"

  "Because I'm not strong enough to protect you!"

  I fell back a step. "Dad?"

  "It was selfish. I was selfish." He fisted his hands at his sides. "I kept you too long. Before she died, your mom told me to take you to your grandpas right away so it wouldn't be so hard, but I couldn't let you go. I'd just lost my wife. I couldn't lose my little girl, too."

  He sniffed, his eyes clouding with moisture. "It's late, but I have to do this for her now. For you." His voice came out in a croak. "Please. Please go inside. It's the last thing I want to do, but it's the only way to keep you safe."

  I stared into the darkened interior of the abandoned café. The sun streaked in through the open doorway revealing dust motes like snowflakes, floating on the hot desert breeze. I shivered.

  "Once you're inside, lock the door. I'm going to lead them away from here."

  Toby plopped down on his furry behind, gave me his panting, tongue-lolling grin. I dragged myself up the crumbling steps. Looked back at my dad as he climbed inside his truck, my throat so tight I could hardly swallow.

  "Don't forget to hold onto Toby and lock the door. Tell me you'll do it. Say it," he yelled to me through the open passenger window.

  "I-I'll lock the door."

  "Hold Toby tight. Keep a hand on your things and they'll go with you."

  Go with me? Where was I going? He was the one leaving, not me. So many questions rocketed through my head. I didn't ask them. I didn't say anything. Just stared at him. It was as if all the air had been let out of me.

  "I love you, Loops. More than you could ever imagine."

  With a last look down the road behind us, he ducked his head back inside his truck and drove away.

  4

  He was gone.

  The old truck left nothing but a cloud of exhaust behind as it faded into a pinpoint dot on the horizon.

  "Dad," I whispered, so hurt I could hardly form the word. Still, I did as he said and yanked open the door, joining my dog inside the dusty old café.

  The grimy tile floor cracked, and fissures ran up the dirty plaster walls, rattling the stacks of old food crates, tables, chairs, and demolished booths. The ground shook hard enough to bring me to my knees, but it was a few minutes too late. Dad had already taken care of that.

  Toby whined and rubbed his furry body against me. I wanted to reassure him, but I was fresh out of everything-is-going-to-be-all-rights, so instead, I pressed myself to the back panel of a dirty booth and drew him close against me.

  A piece of the ceiling smashed to the floor a few feet away. Toby barked. I didn't flinch. This was my rage; this was my despair. This was the monster in me.

  I was the monster.

  Toby threw his head back and howled. That meant trouble. He had an almost preternatural way of knowing when the Kilshaw Agency was close. Between Dad's super vision and my dog's early warning system, we'd been able to stay ahead of them—until now.

  A black SUV screeched to a halt outside the café, kicking dust into tall plumes of dry tan smoke. The passenger door flew open and I hunkered down, hugged Toby to me, and whispered, "Shh," and prayed he'd listen for once.

  He whined, but stopped his howling, even after I released him. I was reaching out to lock the door, when I heard a voice, muffled through the thick door glass. "No way. I'm sure this is it. This is the café."

  I drew my hand back and tried to hide, but there was nowhere to go. Debris blocked every exit but the one in front of me.

  "Fine, I'll take a look." A guy in black sunglasses strode through the billowing dust clouds and headed straight for me. He appeared to be eighteen or nineteen, twenty at the most, and his slim, muscular body was covered from neck to boots in a tight black jumpsuit. His skin was two shades darker than mine, the deep brown of an October leaf, and his silver hair was pulled into a ponytail.

  He propped his shades up onto his head, his pale gaze sliding over the abandoned café from one end to the other, then zeroing in on the center. On the grimy front door.

  On me.

  I edged closer to the door, to the lock.

  He held up a hand. "Don't. Not yet."

  The ground jerked, sending Mr. Sunglasses stumbling to the right. I hadn't meant to do it, but I wasn't sorry.

  "Nice one." He grinned.

  "I don't like this, Toby." My dog whined. He didn't like it, either.

  Another black SUV skidded into the dirt in front of the café. Kilshaw's agents were piling out of both vehicles before it had even stopped—some older, most young, one female who looked younger than me. All were dressed alike.

  The group stomped through the dead grass around the abandoned diner, kicking up loose rocks and dirt. One of them gestured to me with her smart phone and said something to the silver ponytail guy.

  While they were busy, I reached for the lock, tried to twist it. It wouldn't budge.

  "Yeah, I see her." Silver ponytail jogged up and dropped to his haunches in front of the door, only the filthy glass separating us.

  He was good-looking from far away. Up close, he was insanely hot. High cheekbones, wide-set jaw, long black eyelashes surrounding sparkling silver eyes. I wondered if he wore mascara, but I thought it was probably natural because his eyebrows were also dark, not silver like the rest of his hair.

  And I could not shake the feeling that I'd seen him before.

  "Hey, you don't have to be afraid. We won't hurt you."

  I gave him a look that told him exactly how much I believed that, and tried the lock again.

  "Smart." He laughed.

  Behind him, the woman with the phone spoke into it. "Yes sir, it's definitely her. We felt the tremors ten miles away. She's holed up with her dog in some dilapidated café." Pause. "Not a problem. Thompson is long gone. Yes sir, it does seem out of character. We'll be cautious, sir. Sterling is talking her into…" Her voice faded as she walked away.

&n
bsp; "Why did your dad leave?" He leaned against the glass. "Wait. Do you have a café card, Maria Guadalupe? Is that why you're here?"

  I stared at him with my lips pressed together.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the others, who were watching but didn't seem inclined to come closer. "They think you're dangerous, you know."

  "They're right." I meant it. I would not go down easily—I had a dog to protect and a life I planned to keep living.

  The ground simmered in a series of low, steady quakes.

  "Maria Guadalupe. Lupita. Loops."

  "Maria is fine," I snapped, not wanting to hear Dad's nickname for me from my enemy's mouth.

  "Maria." He tipped his head to one side, offered me a killer white smile that made my frightened heart thump even harder than it already was. I'd seen that smile before…

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  "A friend." He held up both hands, palms facing me. "I get it. Why would you believe me?" His smile fell and, for a second, his eyes looked intensely sad. "Believe it or not, I'm trying to help you."

  One of the older uniformed men—he looked around Dad's age—glanced at his heavy black watch. "Quit ogling the girl and pull her out of there. If we leave now, we can still track down the dad. Two-for-one deal. Kilshaw will probably double our bonuses."

  The silver-haired guy replied to his friend without turning around. "Don't hold your breath, Montez."

  The man sighed. "Come on, Aedan. Let's wrap this up and go home."

  Aedan?

  The face shape was a little off, the features sharper, and there was a lot more color to him, but this was my ghost boyfriend, all right. Now that I could see it, I couldn't unsee it.

  Bile burned at the back of my throat.

  "Maria…"

  "Liar." A ripping sound, like that of close thunder, tore the air, and a fissure opened in the earth under the tires of the first SUV. The nose of the car sank into the crevice, lifting the back tires off the ground.

  His head whipped around to the SUV, then back to me. "Damn. This is not how I wanted you to find out."

  "Ass."

  "Maria, come on." Aedan stared at me through the glass. "It's not what you think."