She's Not Coming Home

by Philip Cox

  Tonight was no exception. A warm and dry blast of air blew down the mountain passes. Warm and dry, and easily exceeding 40 mph, they brought with them a thin layer of reddish dust. They were hot too: the Santa Monica weather station’s instruments were recording 98 degrees.

  The man staggered along the empty road. Dressed only in torn white shorts, he weaved back and forth across the yellow centre line. He could make out some kind of reflection on the wet road below. He felt down and rubbed his leg. There were scratch marks down to his ankle from the tumble he had taken down the hillside from above. He stopped and looked round, disorientated, blinking.

  Where was he?

  Somewhere high up, he was sure; he could hear, or thought he could hear, the muffled rumbling of traffic below.

  But where exactly?

  And how did he get here?

  He stopped and looked around. He could make out lights above and below, but the road he was on was devoid of any buildings. It was only the light from the moon which gave him any form of illumination.

  There was mist around: as the road disappeared round a bend ahead, and behind as it receded into the dark.

  He felt cold, even though the strong winds blowing down the hillside were hot. He wiped the dust from his eyes, and continued along the road.

  He needed to find shelter, some help.

  After a few more yards’ shuffling, he stopped again. A dog was barking. He looked around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. A dog would mean someone’s house.

  The barking seemed to be coming from below. Maybe the lights below were from a house. That meant a phone.

  A phone. He could remember using a cell phone earlier that evening. Could remember putting the phone back onto the belt clip he used. Involuntarily, he felt down to his waist. All he could feel was the elastic of his torn, dirty shorts.

  Where were his clothes? How did he end up here?

  He started to walk again, this time towards where he thought the barking, which had now stopped, came from. He rubbed the side of his leg and looked at his hand. Blood. Then looked at his leg. The scratches were bleeding more; not profusely, but they would need attention.

  He veered over to the right hand side of the road, so now he was walking partly on the road, partly on the bumpy verge.

  He paused as he could make out a new source of light. They got closer. Two small separate lights, slightly diffused in the mist. Then the sound of a car engine.

  By now he could make out the vehicle as it came round the bend. It was not coming at him very fast, no doubt because of the mist, which seemed to thicken as the road went downhill. He staggered over to the centre of the road as the car came round the bend. Feebly, he waved his arms in the air. The driver braked, and the car skidded slightly as it came to a halt around ten feet past the man. He ran up to the driver’s door. A grey haired man was driving, with a woman of similar age sitting in front with him. The driver wound down his window.

  ‘What in hell’s going on?’ the driver asked. ‘I could have…’ He stopped as he noticed the figure was wearing only shorts. ‘Jesus H!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Please, I need help…’ The man rested his hand on the car roof and leaned over.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, I….’

  ‘Can I borrow your cell phone? I need to make a call.’

  The woman leaned forward and saw him. ‘Tell him to go away, Gus.’

  Gus looked over at her and back at the man. ‘I – I, er…’

  ‘Please, mister. Go away. You’re scaring us,’ the woman said.

  ‘I just need a cell phone for a minute…’

  ‘Sorry, pal,’ said Gus as he wound up the window. ‘We don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘But I just…’

  Gus wound up the window and the car sped away into the darkness and into the mist.

  He watched as the red tail lights faded away into the mist. After a few moments’ pause, he continued to shuffle on. He cried out as he stepped on something sharp. He lifted up his leg and pulled out a sharp stone which had gotten embedded in the sole of his bare foot. Then moved on again.

  Looking down, he could make out some lights. Maybe that was where the barking was coming from. This was the direction from which he could still hear the rumble of traffic.

  He slowly stepped off the road and began to climb down the slope. It was steep in places but he was able to grab onto some bushes for support. As he climbed further down, the undergrowth became thicker. He tried to make out what the vegetation was. The smell seemed familiar: maybe buckbush. As he got further down, he realised he had lost sight of the lights. He panicked slightly as he lost his bearings. Looked around again. No sign of any lights now, but the ambient sound of the traffic below was still there.

  He moved on again.

  After twenty yards or so, the traffic noise was getting louder. Perhaps he should head for there; on a busy road he would stand a better chance of flagging someone down.

  Then he missed his footing. Tried to grab a bush for support, but missed. Landing on his back, he slid down the slope. He cried out as his back was lacerated by the shrubs and rocks as he skimmed over them. He hit an obstruction, a tree stump maybe; rather than stopping his descent, it served to knock him sideways so now he was rolling down. He tried to put his hands in front of him to protect his face, but his momentum was too great. As he rolled down, one side of his head hit some hard ground. Just then, his fall stopped.

  He lay there, dazed. He thought he had reached the end of the drop as he was now lying on level ground. He felt up to his temple: it was wet and sticky. His vision was blurred. He stood up and moved on. Suddenly under his feet he could feel not ground and brush, but a smooth surface. Not unlike the road above. Still disorientated he staggered forward.

  His last sensations were a blinding white light, a loud, deep blare. Then, a microsecond of intense pain as something weighing 35000 lbs slammed into him.

  Then nothing.

  TWO

  So far, Jay Wang was not having a good day. At least it was just after seven, so it would not be long until the next, and hopefully better, day.

  Ironically, this was a day he had been looking forward to for many weeks. It was his girlfriend, Kiera Alvarado’s twenty-third birthday. He had splashed out $111 for two terrace seats for a Norah Jones concert at the Hollywood Bowl: not his first choice for an evening’s entertainment, but she was quite insistent. Then there was the meal: somewhere nice, somewhere stylish, but not too fancy, either before or after the show.

  It was looking as if it would be after the show: after getting off work early, rushing home for a quick shower and change of clothes, and then making the five mile journey down to Kiera’s place in ten minutes, they had experienced nothing but gridlock since they joined the Hollywood Freeway. Now they were headed west on Santa Monica Boulevard, where the traffic was still slow, but less so than on the freeway.

  ‘We’re not gonna make it in time,’ Jay muttered, impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

  ‘I told you we shouldn’t have used the freeway,’ Kiera retorted. ‘Not at this time of day.’

  ‘We’d get held up at this time of day whichever route we took.’

  ‘Not if we’d used Wilshire and Highland.’

  ‘Bullshit. Freeway, residential: it’s all jammed up. Friday rush hour, remember.’

  Kiera snorted and looked out of the window. She swore under her breath as a green light turned amber, then red, before they could get past.

  ‘And what about eating?’ she asked. ‘I can’t wait till after the show. If we ever get there.’

  ‘Jesus, I thought we were going to eat afterwards.’

  ‘Are you serious? It’ll be eleven before we get out.’

  ‘Where do you want to go then?’ Jay snapped back.

  She squinted as she peered ahead, then pointed. About a hundred yards in front of them, across the street, was a large illuminated Denny’s sign.

  ‘
Go in there,’ she said.

  ‘Denny’s? We don’t have long, remember?’

  ‘I don’t care. I just need something quick. I’ve not eaten since midday.’

  Once they reached the parking lot entrance, Jay paused for a break in eastbound traffic and pulled in.

  ‘Busy here tonight,’ Jay said as he drove around looking for a space.

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Kiera moaned as it was quite clear the lot was full.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘It’s no use driving around the lot. Let’s go.’

  ‘Okay.’ Jay eased the Chevy out of the parking lot. The lights at the intersection with Van Ness turned red, so he was able to cross the eastbound lane easily and get back into westbound traffic.

  ‘We’re going to be even later now,’ Kiera grumbled, checking her watch.

  Jay accelerated slightly as the signals they passed changed to red. ‘Not necessarily. We’re at Gower already.’

  ‘And?’ she asked. ‘The show starts in an hour; we have to get all the way to Highland, then find somewhere to park. Plus get something to eat first.’

  Jay looked at his watch, then at the LED clock on the dashboard, as if it was going to tell him an earlier time.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Kiera said. ‘Just get me a burger and fries. Just something quick.’

  ‘Burger and fries? But it’s your birthday – don’t you want something special…?’

  ‘That would have been nice, but I’d rather get to the concert in time.’

  She looked over at Jay and saw the disappointed look on his face. She reached over and held his arm.

  ‘I know you wanted to make tonight special, baby,’ she said softly, ‘but it will be. As long as we get there in time. Think about it. There was no way we were going to get home from work, change, get out here, eat, and get to the Bowl by eight thirty. Not on a weekday.’

  Jay nodded. ‘Okay, baby. If you say so.’

  Both remained silent for the next couple of blocks, then Jay said, ‘There’s a McDonalds on Hollywood, just before Highland.’

  Kiera laughed. ‘Looks like we might have to. You can pull up outside and run in for something.’

  ‘McDonalds,’ Jay scoffed. ‘Okay, if that’s all right with you. Sorry. I’ll make it up to you another time.’

  She put her hand on the top of his leg and moved it up to his thigh. ‘Oh, I know you will.’

  Jay laughed and indicated right, then, turned onto Vine Street. Just past Selma, the traffic ground to a halt again. Jay swore and put on the brake.

  ‘I knew we should have used the Red Line,’ Kiera said, sitting up in her seat so she could see any cause for the delay. There was a row of red tail and brake lights right up to the intersection with Hollywood Boulevard, and the traffic there seemed to be at a standstill.

  ‘It’s gridlock everywhere,’ she wailed. ‘Jay, you need to do something.’

  ‘Do what?’ he asked. Do what exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, settling back down in her seat. She rested her elbow on the door and her head in her hand.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ Jay muttered, looking around at the traffic. Then he noticed something. He indicated left and turned into the oncoming traffic.

  Kiera sat bolt upright in her seat. ‘What the fuck are you…’

  ‘Just relax. Trust me.’

  Some of the traffic coming down Vine Street blew their horns, but Jay was eventually able to get to a ninety degree angle and make it across the two opposite lanes. Gripping onto her seat handle, Kiera could see he was headed for an alleyway alongside the Stars on Vine restaurant.

  ‘Where does this lead us?’ she asked.

  ‘No idea,’ said Jay as he drove along the darkened alleyway. ‘But I’m guessing it’ll take us away from this traffic. We’re running parallel with Hollywood Boulevard now.’

  Jay switched to high beams as the alleyway got darker. Rather than leading directly to the next cross street as he had hoped, the alley turned right at a ninety degree angle.

  ‘I don’t like this, Jay,’ said Kiera. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Relax; it has to come out somewhere. And we’re going in the right direction.’

  ‘Right direction for where?’

  ‘For Highland Avenue. It’s over in that direction.’

  Jay continued slowly along the alley. Over the tops of the buildings he could see the glow from the streetlamps on Hollywood Boulevard and could make out the sound of traffic and horns.

  The alley led them to a small open space. About fifty feet square, it seemed to be a small parking lot belonging to some of the buildings surrounding them. One car was parked up against a wall. Two dumpsters were alongside another wall.

  ‘Great,’ said Kiera. ‘A dead end.’

  ‘Shit,’ muttered Jay. ‘I’m going to have to turn round.’

  ‘There’s no way we’re going to make it now,’ said Kiera, sitting back and folding her arms in protest.

  Jay ignored her and turned the car as far as he could to the left, engaged reverse, and fed the steering wheel the other way. He reversed twenty feet or so into a recessed area between two buildings. Just as he did so, the rear of the car bumped up and down, causing Jay and Kiera to bounce in their seats.

  ‘Jesus, what was that?’ Kiera called out.

  ‘Probably some garbage,’ Jay said. ‘There are dumpsters everywhere.’

  He put the Chevy into Drive and moved forward slowly. The bump again.

  ‘Jay, you need to check what it was,’ said Kiera nervously.

  Jay put on the brake and released his seat belt. ‘What are you expecting: a body?’ he snapped as he got out of the car.

  Kiera sat back in her seat and began playing with her phone. She sat up with a start when she heard Jay crying out.

  ‘Oh my God, Oh, Jesus. Oh Jesus.’

  Kiera released her own belt and got out. Jay was standing at the back of the car, holding his head in his hands, wailing and looking down at the ground. She looked down too and put her hand to her mouth when she saw what Jay was looking at.

  Lying partly underneath the Chevy, naked except for a torn pair of black briefs, and dark tread marks on the skin where the tyres had run over it, was a man’s body.

  To read more, go to:

  UK: www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00FNMWI28

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  DON’T GO OUT IN THE DARK

  A WET AUTUMN NIGHT

  Newspaper reporter Jack Richardson lends his coat and car to a friend

  AN ACCIDENT

  Within thirty minutes, Jack’s car lies in flames

  The crash seems suspicious, and Jack wonders if it was an accident, or murder.

  But if it was murder,

  Who was the intended victim?

  Here’s a sneak preview:

  Chapter 1

  The early morning drizzle had now given way to hazy sunshine as the aircraft made its approach. Visibility was excellent, and the pilots had to contend with only a slight south westerly breeze. The tyres made contact with the tarmac at just after ten in the morning, some twenty-five minutes behind schedule. Once on the ground, the twin Pratt & Whitney Jt8D turbofan engines roared one more time as reverse thrust was applied.

  The passenger in seat 17A looked out of his window, watching the grass at the side of the runway slow down, and the airport buildings come into view. He took a deep breath, a sign of relief that the one hour flight from Maracaibo was over. Dr Gabriel Montilla was an experienced air traveller, especially on these short haul flights, but was always relieved when his aircraft landed.

  The Aserca Airlines DC 9-30 came to a halt around a hundred yards from the terminal building, the sound of the engines died down, and most of the passengers began to stand up and reach for the overhead lockers.

  Dr Montilla was an exception. He knew from his experience in flying into Simón Bolívar International Airport that they would have to wait a while before the g
round crew brought the steps, and he would rather wait in his seat than stand in a crowded aisle. As he sat waiting, he looked up at the standing passengers. Flight 754 was an early morning commuter flight and so the majority of his fellow passengers were, like him, making the flight on business. At the front of the line were two well built middle aged men wearing floral shirts. One had long, black, greasy hair; the other was totally bald and wore a grey handle-bar moustache. Behind them was a white haired man in a dark suit carrying a briefcase; the next passenger was almost a reverse image: same height, but with dark hair, and wearing a cream linen suit. Standing behind him was a younger man, around thirty. He wore a light beige suit over a white shirt, which had the top two buttons open, revealing a tanned, smooth chest. His dark hair was cropped short, and his chin was covered with several days’ stubble. He carried a black and silver attaché case. A woman in her forties, Montilla guessed, was next: she was wearing a black blouse, and matching trousers. She was clearly hot, as she kept brushing damp hair from her forehead and over her ears.

  The final two passengers in line were different: a couple, early twenties, both wearing tee-shirts, the man’s white, the girl’s pink, and beige shorts. Both were carrying large backpacks. As a member of the cabin crew set about opening the aircraft doors, the girl backpacker, who was by now standing by row 17, swung round. Her backpack hit Dr Montilla as he started to get up.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she blustered, pulling the backpack away from Montilla. She spoke in Spanish, but with an accent: Portuguese, he guessed. Maybe they were travellers up from Brazil.

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ Montilla replied, smiling at the embarrassed girl. By now the stairs had been put into place, and the passengers were beginning to disembark. The two backpackers moved on, and Montilla was ready to exit. He paused to allow a woman with a small child to go before him then nodded to thank another businessman who had stopped in the aisle to let him out.