Before I Go: A dark and tense psychological crime thriller.

by Marie Reyes

  “I’ve felt better. The sunglasses are helping. Tell me, why is everything so damned bright? I need to be in a dark room somewhere.”

  “You and me both.” He followed her lead and took his shades from his pocket. He only had a hint of a hangover, but at least they could hide the dark circles under his eyes. “We can be those kinds of assholes who wear sunglasses indoors.”

  “So where do we get this bus from then?”

  “I forked out for a private car and hotel pickup. No way am I walking anywhere today. It was hard enough getting out of bed.”

  “Welcome to my life.” He said, seriously at first, but then forced out a laugh. No need to let her know how hard it was for him getting out of bed most mornings.

  “Hola.” An older looking man with white facial hair approached them. “Josie?”

  “That’s us.” She went to grab her bag.

  “Here, let me.” He hoisted up her bag and slung it over one shoulder.

  “I can carry my own bag,” she offered, but he could tell from the slight hunch she had developed since the night before that she might just be saying that for show.

  “Come on, you’re sporting the hangover from hell. Don’t try to be a hero.”

  “Okay, if you put it that way.”

  The driver approached them and took both bags off Michael without saying a word.

  “There goes my act of chivalry.” They followed the driver out the front doors and tried to match his fast pace. Even with his age and carrying two bags, he was more spritely than them. He guided them to a six-seater and put their bags in the trunk as they got inside.

  “So how far is this place anyhow?”

  “It’s about a three-hour drive, maybe.”

  The engine started up and the driver put the radio and air-con on. As the car started moving, Josie lurched forward in her seat and groaned.

  “You okay?”

  “I feel like shit.”

  “I’d hate to say I told you so.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Tell me more about this place,” he said, trying to distract her.

  “Well, it’s a village, or a small town. Close to the Belize border. A little of the beaten path, not like Tulum or Cancún. I’ve done some research. It has smaller Mayan ruins. Not a lot of tourists so better for exploring if you want some solitude I guess. There’s a load of cenotes as well. You could swim in one all to yourself.”

  “Hm. I wouldn’t fancy getting stuck in an underwater cave on my own.” He noticed her leaning her head against the glass with a pained look on her face. “Have this.” He pulled a banana from his daypack. “Potassium, that’s supposed to be good for hangovers, right?” They reached the highway and Michael watched the jungle pass by as Josie slept with her head propped up against the window.

  ***

  In and out of consciousness, Michael woke up when the car finally stopped in front of Hotel Mono Loco. A plain concrete building with a flash of green and blue paint from the logo painted on the front. Green leaves, and a badly painted monkey with one eye a lot bigger than the other. Josie was now wide awake and got out of her side of the car. It was jarring going from the lull of sleep, into the middle of some village he had never seen before. All the other buildings were small except the hotel and a nearby convenience store. A vendor sold food from their cart on the side of the road, and there were no other tourists he could see on the street. He grabbed the bags whilst Josie tipped the driver and then they headed inside. The hotel was empty except for one middle-aged traveler sat on a tattered red couch reading a magazine at the table. He felt self-conscious walking in as it was so quiet their footsteps echoed throughout the building. The front desk was unmanned, and they waited with their bags, desperate to offload their stuff. Josie picked up a card for a taxi company from the desk and looked at it with suspicion. He tried to imagine what had been running through her sister’s mind when she was trapped in that taxi, alone. Worst-case scenarios running through her head—worst-case scenarios that came true. His mind couldn’t help but imagine her dead in a ditch somewhere, and the thought that Josie probably also imagined these things made him feel sick.

  There was some movement in the back room and a man that looked to be in his forties emerged from the office with a fine layer of sweat on his forehead. He looked surprised to see them.

  “Los siento. I didn’t hear you there.” He sat down on a wheeled chair and scooted over to a huge beige computer that looked like it was from the late eighties and input something on the keyboard as a clunky fan droned in the background.

  “Passportes por favor.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Michael rummaged in his pocket.

  “I am Julio. Anything you need, you ask.” He took Josie’s passport, opened it up at the photo page and held it up in front of him comparing the two. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

  “No. I’ve never been here before.” She looked confused for a brief second, and then her eyes lit up and she reached into her handbag, pulling out a photograph folded in half. She opened it and held it out to him. “Have you seen this girl at all? It may have been a long time ago now.” She looked at him expectantly.

  He glanced at the photo. “I don’t know. I see a lot of tourists. Maybe.”

  Michael glanced over at the photo and couldn’t believe how similar Josie and her sister were. Looking at the photo, it was like seeing into the future. It was exactly how he could imagine Josie looking if she were a few years older.

  “Maybe. So you could have? Think.” She pushed.

  “I don’t remember. Lots of beautiful girls come and go, you know. Let me show you your rooms.”

  They followed him up the steep concrete stairs to the first floor. “The keys are in the lock. Shared bathroom at the end of the hall, showers, hot water.”

  “Thank you.” Josie watched him as he walked down the stairs and once he had reached the bottom, she turned to Michael. “Did you hear that? We’ve been here all of ten minutes and already I have a lead. He recognized her, I know it.”

  “Could be. I can’t believe how alike you look.”

  “Yeah, everyone would always say that. I might clean up and then go around town, see if anyone recognizes her. It was so long ago, I know it’s a long shot. But it’s a start.”

  Chapter Ten

  Michael stood before the shelves at the convenience store, glancing over the limited range of items on sale. All the products were similar enough to give him a false sense of security, but different enough to not let him forget that he was far from home. Michael inspected a family size bag of chips, trying to decipher the flavor. Usually the pictures would give him a hint. Most of them seemed to have images of chilli’s on the front, or maybe peppers. Paprika maybe. He hedged his bets—his arms laden with bags of chips and candy bars as he approached the cash register. Why were there no baskets? He dumped his stash on the side next to Josie and went down the other side of the shop in search of beer. There was barely anything left in the small refrigerator that seemed to be held together with duct tape, so he picked up some dusty bottles off of the shelf, holding them close to his chest before going back to the cash register.

  “Excuse me. Have you seen this girl around at all? At any time? Could have been months ago.” She slipped Tanya’s photograph across the counter and leaned forward expectantly. He considered she might have more luck if she didn’t get in the shopkeeper’s personal space.

  The young woman looked at her blankly and Josie asked her again. “Has visto a esta chica?”

  The cashier took the picture from Josie, glanced at it. “Mmm, no.” She shrugged, slid the photo back across the counter and started bagging up Michael’s shopping in reused plastic bags.

  Josie waited before she was outside the store before she spoke. “Well that was a bust. I’m going to ask the churro guy,” she said, looking defeated already. Michael believed that the odds of finding out anything were slim to none, and he hoped that she had actually considered that outcome
. At least she would have done everything she could, and hopefully, that would bring her some closure. They dodged a puddle from the previous night’s rain and approached the street vendor.

  “Hola. Puedo teines cinco churros, por favor,” he said slowly, trying to enunciate every syllable. To his surprise, the vendor seemed to understand what he had said and put the sugary sticks of dough into a paper-bag. Michael’s mouth was already watering, and he stood by and let Josie do her thing.

  “Has visto a esta chica?” She held up the picture.

  “Ha ha. Yes. She come every night. We have drinks one time. She love to party that one.” A spark fired up in his eyes.

  “Oh my god. Are you sure? It would have been a while ago now.” She was talking with her whole body now.

  “Yes. One year. I know. It was Cinco de Mayo. We party all night. Shots. Dancing. She never call me. How is she?”

  “I don’t know. She went missing. Desaparecida.” She said, gesticulating as if she was trying to act out the word.

  The man’s face dropped like a man that had just found out his wife of 50 years had died. “No, no, no.” He abruptly came around from his cart and gave Josie a hug. She stiffened up awkwardly at first, but then leaned into it.

  After the hug had gone on one second too long, she pulled away. “Well we have to go. Ask around town. What is your name?”

  “Luis.” He went in for another hug. “You let me know if you find her. You’re staying across the road right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll let you know.” As Josie whisked Michael down the street she talked in a stream of consciousness. “Now I know we’re onto something. He knew her. The hotel guy recognized her. I could see it in his eyes. They all seem to know her. It’s crazy.”

  “Just don’t get your hopes up.” He hesitated before continuing. “Keep your expectations realistic.” It only just occurred to Michael that he had left the stall without his churros despite having paid for them.

  “I just feel like, if the police had done this when it happened, it would be fresh in everyone’s mind, and now… it’s probably too late. Well, too late or not. It won’t stop me.” With a straight face, and her arms swinging at her sides—she looked like a girl on a mission. “If anyone would remember her, it would be here, right?” She stopped on the corner where the two roads converged in front of a bar. La Cocina de Maya. “That guy said they had drinks. Maybe they had them here. I should have asked. I’m such an amateur at this.”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you paid him another visit.” Michael tried to wink suggestively, but instead, looked like he was having a stroke.

  Josie stood in front of the door to the bar. “Let’s go in. I’m starving anyway, and I’m sure you could use a drink. It’s already gone midday.” She consulted her watch.

  The light of the sun disappeared as they entered, and the other customers turned to look at them as soon as they were aware of their presence. They eventually turned their attention away and went back to cradling their drinks and chatting amongst themselves in Spanish. The smell of food and stale beer wafted around the stuffy bar. The breeze from earlier had died down, and the heat became oppressive again, like it was sucking away the oxygen from the room.

  “Sit, sit. I bring you a menu.” The person manning the bar was bursting with enthusiasm, his eagerness to please putting Michael at ease. “Welcome. Can I get you a drink first?”

  “Could I have your finest tequila, please? And a beer.” Michael couldn’t decide between both, and why should he when it was so cheap.

  “A man after my own heart.” He held both hands in front of the left side of his chest, his every expression exaggerated. “And for the lady?” He probably wooed all his guests this way. Made them feel special.

  “Just a coke, please. Extra ice.”

  “Coming up.” He put two menus on the table and went back to the bar.

  The menu was laminated and had pictures of the various dishes. “I don’t know about you, but whenever a menu has photos of the food it never looks good,” said Michael, perusing the greasy pages. “Potatoes with honey and mustard seeds. Weird. Sounds nice though.”

  “I’ll probably take one of everything,” she mused.

  A figure emerged in the front doorway, pausing for a moment, just standing there as if waiting for everyone to notice him. He and another man walked up to the bar and the owner’s relaxed stance changed as he straightened his back, standing upright like someone had a pole up his ass.

  “Hola Eduardo.” The man who had just walked in held his arms out as if he were a friend, but the owner, Eduardo, seemed to recoil the closer this man got and they started talking.

  “Che. Que estas haciendo aqui?”

  The man, Che, leaned his forearm across the bar and pulled in closer. Michael could barely make out a word except the word dinero coming up every now and then. One of the few words he knew. A word that stood out—hard to mistake for any other. Their voices got louder and Michael had that horrible feeling, like trouble was brewing. He felt strangely protective of Eduardo. He seemed warm, and instantly likable. The kind of guy you could have good times with.

  “Can you understand any of this?” Michael asked, hunching over the table.

  “He wants him to pay up for something, not sure what though.” They both glanced at the exchange and looking down at the table periodically, not wanting to be seen paying too much attention to their private business. Something stood out about the man, but Michael wasn’t sure what. Maybe it was that everyone else was dressed casually for the weather, yet this man, all in black, looked like he was ready for a funeral.

  The man was actually shouting now, and Michael’s blood pumped so fast around his body he could feel his pulse twitch. It was somewhere between fear and exhilaration. A secret death wish. Dying by someone else was far easier than dying by your own hand. There would be no guilt. Instead of people calling you selfish, people would mourn your loss like anyone else, babble on about how great you were at your funeral. His fantasies started as getting hit by a truck on the way to work until they escalated. Why couldn’t he just get shot down in the street? A swift bullet to the brain, a terrorist attack, or an asteroid would do. Wipe out the whole sorry world in the process. Then there would be no suffering.

  Eduardo escorted the two men to the kitchen to continue their business in private.

  ***

  The two men finally reappeared from the kitchen after what felt like about half an hour and headed straight for the door, not looking back.

  Eduardo watched and waited for them to go out the door before he went to pour Michael and Josie’s drinks. He put them on a small circular tray along with a bowl of something and walked over to their table. “Sorry about the wait. I got you some tortilla for while you wait. On the house. Your food will be a little while.”

  “De nada.” Josie pulled out the picture of her sister once again. “I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for my sister. I don’t suppose you recognize her at all?”

  Eduardo was too busy putting the drinks on the table to give the picture a proper look, his eyes darting around, seemingly unable to stay fixed. “No. Sorry. I’ll go check on your food.” He hurried back to the kitchen, taking the tray with him.

  Two people from the table at the other side of the bar got up and approached them. They looked to be in their mid-twenties. One of them had thick black hair swept back with a copious amount of gel—looked like he could have been a model given the right circumstances.

  “Hola. Are you Americano?”

  “Si.” Michael replied, switching to Spanglish seemingly at will.

  “Cool. What brings you here?”

  Michael looked over at Josie to follow her lead. Straight away, without pretense, she pulled her sister’s picture back out from her bag and passed it to them and asked that same question.

  “No. Not seen her. I’m sure I’d remember if I had. Pretty girl. We live in the next town over, so that’s probably why.” His English so
unded impeccable. “Can we get you guys a drink?” He looked at their half-finished drinks.

  “No, let me.” Josie reached for her purse and slipped out a note.

  “I’ll go.” The chatty guy took her money. “No gringo prices for you. They do good rum. You’ll like.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t get your names.” Josie asked the guy left at the table.

  “I’m Jorge, and my friend is Álvaro.”

  “So what do you do?” she asked, leaning her elbows on the table and leaning her head on her hand.

  “We are surgeons,” he said meekly.

  “Oh wow. Saving lives, eh.” She finished the watered down dregs of her cola.

  “Well, we haven’t been doing it long. Álvaro has to do a Cesarean section tomorrow.”

  Josie almost spat out her drink in surprise. “Should he be drinking so much?” She looked back to see him taking a shot of rum, before picking up the tray to bring back to the table. There were enough shots on there to bring down an elephant.

  “He’ll be fine. We call him La Miquina. In English that’s—”

  “The machine. I like it.” Josie grabbed a shot as soon as Álvaro put the tray on the table. “Salud,” she announced, before taking her shot and slamming the empty glass back on the table. She seemed keen. Michael wondered if this was going to be a repeat of the night before. Somehow, she’d seemed to have recovered quite well, whereas he still felt rough. Perhaps he had misjudged her, he thought as he took his shot of rum. The best way to get over a hangover was to start drinking again. He could worry about the consequences tomorrow. As the rum hit his tongue, the depth of flavor surprised him—sweet, aromatic, and complex, with a hint of something spicy.

  “Honey rum. Good, no?” Álvaro nodded in encouragement and picked up two shots and passed them to Michael and Josie. “We don’t see so many tourists these days,” Álvaro made it so his and Josie’s chairs were touching.

  “And why is that?” He had piqued her interest.

  “It can be dangerous.”

  “Like what kind of dangerous are we talking? Mugging? Kidnapping?”