Five Total Strangers

by Natalie D. Richards

  “Don’t thank me.” I put my hand up in the universal sign to stop. “It looks shady as hell. We don’t know you, and you haven’t lost anything.”

  “None of us know each other, asshole,” Kayla says.

  “Watch your mouth with her,” Harper says. “She’s right.”

  “It’s a fair point,” Josh says. “But I don’t know if it’s right to search her bag.”

  Brecken whirls on Josh. “Why the hell are you defending her?”

  “I’m not. I just think we should be fair. We all dump our bags or none of us do. If we have nothing to hide, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

  “Fine by me,” I say, shivering. “Let’s get this over with. I’m freezing.”

  I open my bag from the good latch. The busted one is getting so rickety it might break completely if I use it anymore. I pull two sketchpads, my laptop, and a large tin of Prismacolors out first, followed by a zippered pouch of toiletries and another zippered pouch with a single change of clothes. I always have a few outfits at Mom’s house, so I don’t need much.

  “You have colored pencils?” Kayla laughs, momentarily forgetting her anger as she points at the Prismacolors. “What are you, six years old?”

  Harper lights up and reaches for them, but I can’t afford a new set of these right now, so I open them briefly before she can touch. I reveal the worn pencils in their metal nest, shocked by their vibrancy. It’s been a long time since I’ve touched these. It’s been nothing but charcoal for sketching for me this year.

  “Is that it?” Brecken asks.

  “Check for yourself,” I say, nudging my bag forward.

  He does, but not with much enthusiasm. My bag is small, and, besides, it’s pretty obvious I didn’t do this. I wouldn’t have stolen my own phone.

  “I’ll go,” Josh offers, opening his canvas messenger bag.

  Josh’s bag is about what we’d expect. The kit he’d pulled out earlier when Harper cut her finger, some wrinkled clothes, the paperback of Kafka, a few pens, an energy bar, a binder stuffed with notebooks, large envelopes, and a couple of folders. Classic college-student detritus. Nothing is sinister. Nothing is even particularly interesting.

  Harper’s bag is the surprise of the hour. Inside her buttery leather duffel that probably cost more than everything I own, she produces two equally gorgeous toiletries bags, crammed so full that both of the zippers bulge. There’s a wad of clothes, some battered-looking notebooks, a hair straightener with a tangled cord. In general, the bag is such a mess, I’d think she only had ten minutes to pack for a last-minute flight.

  “Wow.” Brecken’s face reflects my surprise. He reaches gingerly, pushing at a leather pouch with a mother-of-pearl button holding it closed. Everything else is a disaster, but this case is immaculate. Sleek and spotless.

  Harper opens it, her cheeks flushing lightly. Four pens, heavy and expensive-looking, are lined up in the pouch. It’s as lovely as the sleek journal she was writing in.

  “They’re Parkers,” she says. “They have a nice feel in the hand.”

  Brecken cocks his head. “They have a nice feel in the hand?”

  Her flush deepens. “I told you I write letters. My grandfather loved good pens. I get it honest.”

  “You’re next,” Brecken says, looking at Kayla.

  She dumps her bag without saying a word, and I wish instantly she hadn’t. Clothes similar to the dress she’s wearing now fall out, folded faded dresses and a pair of jeans that make it painfully clear how thin she really is. A broken hairbrush sits atop the mix, next to a ziplock bag with a toothbrush and a sliver of soap. She’s got a couple of lighters and a small sleeve-style wallet that lands faceup. A picture of Kayla—a younger, healthier Kayla—stares up from behind the plastic ID sleeve. There’s no phone. No cords. And certainly no wad of cash stolen from Harper’s wallet.

  “Wait a minute,” Kayla says, apparently to herself.

  Her brow puckers as she unrolls dresses, shakes out a sweater. She’s looking for something, and by the way her shoulders tense, it’s clear she’s not finding it.

  Harper lifts a hand, maybe misinterpreting Kayla’s actions. “That’s okay. We’ve seen enough.”

  But Kayla doesn’t stop. I don’t think she’s doing this for our benefit. She lost something, too. She pauses, hands shaking and her mouth a thin, hard line. Whatever she’s looking for, she is not happy she lost it.

  “I guess that’s that,” Brecken says. “I’m sorry. I just… It’s weird.”

  “We’re not done,” Kayla says, her voice sharp.

  I nod at Brecken. “We haven’t seen your bag yet.”

  He unzips each of the compartments on his backpack, and Josh starts half-heartedly checking. Brecken tugs forward his duffel bag, too, and gestures at it. “Have at it. And if any of you want lessons on how to properly pack a bag, I’m happy to help.”

  Harper reaches for the zipper, her manicured hands pushing the two sides apart. “Whoa. Obsessed much?”

  I lean forward to see that he wasn’t exaggerating about knowing how to pack a bag. Every visible inch of space is filled with tidy, black zippered cubes, the kind you see on late-night infomercials and in-flight advertisements. This is how organizational freaks stow their clothes so nothing rolls around in their luggage. Brecken pulls out two small cubes and unzips them revealing neatly rolled socks and folded boxers. The shirts are even crazier. I’ve seen shirts in store displays folded with less precision.

  “That’s…a lot,” Harper says simply.

  “I like things neat,” he replies. “It’s efficient.”

  He reaches into his bag again, pulling out a larger cube, but his fingers stall on the zipper.

  “What the hell?”

  His voice is soft and breathy, the disbelief stark on both his face and in his tone.

  “What is it?” Harper asks.

  But Brecken doesn’t answer. He reaches into his bag reluctantly, giving Harper a faintly horrified look before he pulls a thick, heavy-looking book free of the bag. I don’t need to read the cover to know it’s Proust. I don’t need anyone to say a thing.

  Josh’s book is buried in the bottom of Brecken’s duffel bag.

  June 12

  Mira,

  What kind of game are you playing? Do you really believe you can continue to ignore what this is? What we are? Some nights I walk around your block a dozen times, waiting to see you in a doorway. A window. I want to find you so I can force you to look into my eyes and explain why you haven’t written back.

  I’m trying to be patient. I know you are painting things for me. For us. I saw your newest work. The carnival and the crowd.

  At first, it didn’t make sense. The painting is bleak and gray—nothing like the carnivals I remember. And the title—The Darkest Ride. None of it made sense, but then I saw myself. There I was in the crowd. White shirt and black shoes and a smear of hair just like mine. When I met you, I was facing to the left.

  It’s a beautiful tribute, Mira. But I want more.

  We can’t keep ourselves apart much longer. You’re fighting forces that are bigger than both of us.

  Do what you need to do. And do it soon.

  Yours

  Chapter Fourteen

  “What the hell are you doing with his book?” Harper asks Brecken.

  “Where’s my stuff?”

  I don’t recognize the screeching voice as Kayla’s until I look at her. And I barely recognize her. The subdued, sleepy passenger is gone. This new Kayla has color in her cheeks and looks ready to hit someone.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Brecken asks.

  Kayla scoffs. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You have his book, so you have the rest of it. Now where’s my stuff?”

  “I have no idea how the hell his book got in there!” Brecken steps back,
hands raised like he’s discovered a bomb in his bag.

  “So, someone else put my book in your bag?” Josh asks calmly.

  Brecken is spluttering. “How the hell would I—”

  “Did you take my wallet?” Harper asks.

  “Or my phone?” I chime in.

  Kayla snatches at his bag. “Where’s my stuff?”

  Brecken pulls it back instinctively, but then flings it at her. It hits her square in the chest, and she stumbles but grabs it.

  “Screw all of you!” Brecken’s eyes have gone dark with anger, his mouth twisted in a feral smile. He looks at each of us in turn. “I don’t need your crappy phone or your pretentious book or whatever shit you’re looking for.” He gestures at Kayla vaguely.

  She pays no attention, just flings the bag back into the cargo area and starts rooting through it frantically. I hear a flurry of zippers and rustling. Brecken’s eyes flick toward her and his jaw tenses, but he doesn’t move to stop her.

  “Have at it,” he says. “Because you’re not going to find whatever it is you’re looking for. None of you.”

  “We already found Josh’s book,” I say.

  He gestures at us again. “Who the hell says one of you didn’t plant it in there?”

  “Why would anyone do that?” Harper asks.

  “We already know you’re willing to steal,” Josh says evenly.

  “That’s bullshit. That was a no-win situation,” he fires back. “And even if I was a thief, what the hell would I want with your weird-ass book?”

  “It doesn’t make any sense,” I say, and it really doesn’t. There isn’t a reason to plant Josh’s book somewhere else. Or to steal Harper’s wallet and no one else’s. If someone nabbed it at the gas station, why not take others? They don’t know how much cash we have.

  “He’s a liar,” Kayla says, but her rooting has clearly produced nothing. She keeps going.

  Brecken throws up his hands. “Okay, why would I let you check my bag to begin with if I’m the thief? Why wouldn’t I keep my mouth shut?”

  We don’t say anything. It’s a good point. That doesn’t make sense.

  Brecken leans in, challenging us with a look. “If I knew Josh’s book was in here, why would I let you find it?”

  Josh cocks his head. “What kind of choice would you have had, man? We were already searching everybody else’s bags.”

  “It was his suggestion, though,” Harper says. I can tell she’s doubting this as much as I am now. “And Kayla hasn’t found anything else. Have you?”

  Kayla shoves his bag away in a huff, saying nothing but breathing hard. Josh takes her hand and mutters something reassuring. She locks eyes with him and seems to settle.

  “None of this makes sense.” I shake my head. “This is all random stuff. A book. A phone. A wallet. Whatever the hell Kayla is missing.”

  “Gee, I wonder what that could be,” Brecken muses.

  “Well, it’s all valuable except for the book,” Harper says. “Maybe we got hit at the gas station. Someone could have stolen our stuff and shoved the book in that cube while looking through Brecken’s bags. It’s possible right?”

  “Possible,” I agree, but it doesn’t sit right. What thief would take the time to put everything back just so?

  “Look, we need to get moving,” Harper says. “I’m freezing. And no offense, but I’m tired of spending Christmas Eve in a car with all of you. I want to be with my family. I need to get home.”

  “Me too,” I say softly.

  “Maybe we can stop at the next exit,” Harper says. “Sort it out then.”

  “What if more stuff gets taken?” Josh asks, his eyes drifting to Brecken.

  “Don’t look at me! I can’t believe you assholes think I’d want your crap,” Brecken says with a sneer.

  “Brecken, stop,” Harper says.

  “He won’t stop,” Kayla says, but she’s much calmer now. “He’s deflecting so we won’t think he’s behind it.”

  Brecken throws out a hand. “Says the resident burnout from the back seat!”

  “Maybe we need to settle down,” Josh says.

  Light flickers through his hair, and I shift on my feet to see it better. Headlights. We can’t sit here in the middle of the road with a car approaching. We return to our seats, and I don’t know how Brecken ends up back behind the wheel or why I end up in the front with him, but before I can protest, we’re rolling onward.

  The car behind us is a distant presence, a pair of yellow-white eyes blinking now and then through the blowing snow. I feel watched again, so I turn to look over my shoulder and this time, I’m right about the feeling. Kayla is staring at me.

  Her pale eyes are rimmed red and her mouth is open just a little. She doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smile or nod. She just stares.

  I shift, uncomfortable under her expressionless gaze. I want her to turn those strange eyes somewhere else so I don’t have to look at her. I want to ask her why her eyes are red and why she’s sleeping so much, but some part of me thinks I already know these answers. I don’t want them spoken out loud.

  “What are you looking at?” I ask her.

  She smiles that strange, otherworldly smile, but says nothing. The dread in my stomach turns to ice. And then stone. What was she looking for in Brecken’s bag? Was she the one who planted the book? Is it possible she’s behind this and we just haven’t found our things?

  Does she have my phone?

  Without warning, Kayla’s eyelids flutter and she drops her head back to the headrest with a sigh. The snores begin within seconds, and this time I know she isn’t sick. Or tired. This is something else.

  “I didn’t know,” Harper says softly. She reaches over the seat and touches my shoulder. It’s light and quick, but it’s an indicator that this apology is meant for me. I don’t need it. I have no idea why she acts like this with me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I didn’t know about…” Harper’s eyes flick to Kayla meaningfully. “I wouldn’t have asked her to come if I knew she was…”

  Harper lets the words trail into nothing. But I can fill in the blanks. Kayla is on something. I don’t know what, but everything about this screams user.

  Brecken sighs, voicing my suspicions in a flat voice. “Girl’s got junkie written all over her.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Harper says, but she doesn’t disagree. “It’s just…you’re a sweetheart, Mira. And you’re young. I would have never dragged you into this if I’d known.”

  “Of course you didn’t know,” I say softly, wanting her to move on. Wondering if she knows how young I actually am. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want her treating me like someone who needs looking after. “I made my own choice to be here. It’s not on you.”

  “Look, I get what it looks like,” Josh says, “but maybe this isn’t what we think.”

  He taps his bare wrist meaningfully and then points at Kayla’s arm. It’s flopped over her lap like a forgotten rag. A thick, dull silver bracelet sits halfway between her wrist and her elbow.

  A medical alert bracelet.

  Guilt pricks at the back of my neck. Zari’s brother Jayden has a similar bracelet for allergies. I should have noticed that. God, am I so removed from my old life that I miss things like this?

  “I didn’t even see that,” I say.

  “Me either,” Harper adds.

  “I’m staying with my original vote,” Brecken says. “She’s not a poor terminally ill girl. Or if she is, she’s a poor, terminally ill junkie girl.”

  “How would you know?” I ask.

  “My whole family is full of doctors. Both of my parents. My uncles and older brother. He runs a recovery clinic for addicts, so he talks about it a lot.”

  “Wow, I didn’t know you could learn medicine through osmosis,” Josh says, qu
iet but with a touch of bite to his tone.

  “He said he’s studying medicine,” Harper defends.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I ask. “Where are we?”

  “On some bullshit county road that no one gives two craps about,” Brecken says. “I don’t know where the hell I’m going. Here, Mira, can you help?”

  He thrusts his phone at me and I take it, ignoring the critically low battery warning. Our signal isn’t good, and the map loads one miserably slow inch at a time.

  “I need a bigger road,” he says.

  I nod. “I’m working on it. And your phone isn’t going to last.”

  I trace the routes with my eyes, but there isn’t much that doesn’t snake us miles into the mountains before moving back to I-80 maybe only an exit or two from where they closed it. I shake my head. “Our best bet is to double back to Route 53, I think. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

  “So we double back,” Brecken says.

  I cock my head. “Uh, except that gas station was on 53.”

  Brecken shrugs. “They’re probably long gone.”

  Josh clucks his tongue. “It feels risky.”

  “That gas station had a sign that the clerk is armed,” I add. “I don’t want to be anywhere near that place again.”

  “Stop being hysterical,” Brecken says. “Every backwoods gas station has a sign like that. And they’ve probably been home for the last hour. They’re likely a couple of beers in.”

  Anger taps, white hot, at the center of my chest. “I’m not being hysterical,” I say. “The man ran to his truck and chased us.”

  “I don’t want anyone feeling unsafe,” Harper says. “If Mira doesn’t want to go back, we don’t go back.”

  Brecken stops in the middle of the road. I turn, but the headlights I spotted before are nowhere in sight. We’re alone for now.

  “Why are you stopping?” Harper asks.

  “I’m waiting for you to tell me what to do,” Brecken says. “If this snow gets much deeper, I’m not going to be able to see the road. We could end up driving off the side of a mountain.”

  “We need a plowed road,” Harper says.