by Harley Fox
Along with the road, the other thing I keep checking compulsively is the gas gauge. The guy at the rental place pointed out that the gas was three-quarters full, and that I have to return the car with the gauge at or higher than where it is. But not owning a car, it didn’t occur to me that there wouldn’t be any gas stations out here in the desert. Or that this is an hours-long drive. Or that, if I ran out of gas, I would be stuck literally in the middle of nowhere with no one to help and nowhere to go.
So I think it’s safe to say that right now, I’m starting to get scared. The directions seem vague to me now. Just the same words, over and over. What about the dunes that surround me? Where’s the information on those? A lesson from my grade-school mathematics pops into my head: if the angle of a trajectory is off by even a fraction of a degree, the difference far from its origin can extrapolate to a huge amount. It’s a lot of confusing words to say that if I’m not pointing in the right direction, then I might not even be headed where I’m supposed to be.
Now my heart is pounding. Memories of Dr. Coolidge’s phone call come to mind, of her saying that she got lost on the way here. And if she got lost, then why wouldn’t I, some lovestruck girl who’s hardly driven before, get lost too? What’s to stop this car from running out of gas and leaving me stranded here, first in the freezing cold of the desert night, and then in the baking heat of its sun? This is where I’m going to die. I’m going to die, and the worst part is that I’ll never see Marc again.
My foot moves to the brake pedal, as if on its own. The car lurches to a sudden stop, skidding only a bit in the sand, considering how slowly I was going. I keep my hands on the wheel, gripping it as though letting go would be my downfall.
“Now listen here, Persephone,” I say. “You’re going to get through this. First of all, you are not a little girl anymore. You are in control of your own life now. And taking control means making decisions that you decide. If that means suffering the consequences, then so be it. But at least they will be your own.”
I take a deep breath in and let it out.
“You may get lost, yes. But you’re not lost yet. Coolidge printed off these same directions. So if she’s following them, then you can follow them. You’ve been fastidious, and that’s good. Now just keep going and follow them the best way you can.”
But what if—
“No. Stop that. What if nothing. You can do this, hon. You got this.”
Another breath, this time with my eyes closed. When I open them again I still see the same stretch of barren sand out in front of me, but this time it looks clearer than before. The few stars in the sky are brighter. There’s a pale blue glow that allows me to make out the terrain, both near and far.
I can do this. The first step is just doing it.
My foot moves from the brake to the gas and I slowly move forward, still checking the directions as frequently as I need to, but with my heart beating at a reasonable pace now. My breathing comes in more regularly.
There are no signs for the roads out here. Or none that I can see. But the turns the directions tell me to take make sense. I see a large dune coming up on my right and remember noting that when I saw the warehouse location on the map. I’m on the right track. And holy shit, I think I’m close!
I stay focused, following the directions closely, finally leaving the hard-packed road and venturing off into slippery sand. There’s no sound now save for the rumble of the car’s engine. And then I pass by another large dune and all of a sudden there it is. Standing out dark and stolid against the horizon. The warehouse. I turn off my headlights and move slowly up to it. The clock on the dashboard says it’s only nine o’clock. They shouldn’t be in bed yet. Stopping the car not far from the edge of the warehouse, I turn it off and get out, my heart pounding much more quickly now. I quietly close the car door and make my way around to the warehouse door.
In all the while I was driving, I kept going over what I would say to Marc and to Edward and the rest. But now that I’m here my brain feels all but empty. How am I going to explain myself? What do I even have to explain? That I missed them? That I got fired and I have nowhere else to go? What am I even doing here anyway? This was a stupid idea. I should just go back and forget all about this. A lapse in brain activity. They don’t even know I’m here yet, so it would be no harm, no foul.
But when I stop and seriously consider this course of action, it doesn’t feel right. What does feel right are the people on the other side of that door, and one person in particular. Marc. I have to see him again. To explain, to apologize.
To see if he’ll take me with him into this new world.
I’m at the door now. Do I knock? Or do I just go in? Deciding that if I knock then they’ll have the upper hand and could attack me, I grab onto the handle, take a few deep breaths to steady myself, and pull it open.
The smell of the place feels immediately familiar. I’ve been gone less than a day and already I realize how much I’ve missed it. I hear voices, soft murmurs, those familiar sounds. My heart is pounding, but I’m in the belly of the beast now. There’s no going back. Moving casually, naturally, I snake my way through the corridors down a path I know well, and arrive at the entrance to the common area.
To say that everybody looks shocked would be an understatement. Rebekka is the first one to speak.
“Holy fuck!” she shouts, a shock running through her whole body like those videos of cats being surprised by cucumbers.
“Persephone?” That one’s Marc. His expression is at first a mix of both surprise and disbelief. But then a smile breaks through the surface, and I know for certain that the decision I made was the right one.
That is, of course, until Edward speaks.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
He was sitting—they all were—but he’s the first to stand up and make his way toward me. Marc gets up too, his glance trading in me for Edward, but the latter is closer to me. Marc can’t do a thing.
“You were never supposed to come back here!”
He’s approaching, and I feel my body start to tense up. I’ve never fought anybody before—unless you count me punching Kiara in the face—but I have a feeling I’m going to have to start now.
When he reaches me I see one fist come up and it’s like my body moves on its own. You know that whole Fight Or Flight thing? It’s totally real. I duck underneath his swing as he tries to connect with the side of my head. I can tell he doesn’t expect it, because he stumbles forward a bit. Loses his balance. My brain works fast, and my body keeps up as best it can without any intervention from me. I straighten up and use both my hands to grab ahold of Edward’s shoulder, shoving him toward the stack of wooden crates that make up part of the wall.
“Whoa!” comes a shout from Julian.
Edward stumbles and crashes into the crate, his heavy frame knocking it askew. The crate at the very top wobbles dangerously but doesn’t fall. If it did and fell on Edward, it would surely kill him.
He stands himself back up, and now he has murder in his eyes.
“You fucking cunt.”
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a gun, the same one he’d pointed at me before. I feel my eyes go wide, but a movement to my side lets me know that Marc has joined the fray. He steps past me and grabs the arm that’s holding the gun, pointing it upward. From there Edward and Marc proceed to grapple.
“You fucking … get out of here!”
“You’re not hurting her, Edward.”
The gun goes off and Rebekka shrieks an instant before one of the overhead lights shatters, causing the interior glow to drop. Small fragments of thin glass tinkle over the wooden crates as Edward trips Marc and they both go down.
“Get off of him!” I shout, dropping down and hitting Edward in the face, on his chest. My blows seem not to make a difference, however. The gun is waving around madly. Marc manages to swing it hard enough against one of the crates that Edward drops it, and it lands with a clatter against the concrete
floor.
“Persephone!” Marc yells with a strained voice. “Get the gun!”
It’s close by their writhing bodies but I manage to snag it out from underneath Edward. He roars in frustration but I take a step back, standing and pointing the gun down at him, at both of them.
“Stop it!” I shout. “Let him go!”
“You gonna let your fucking woman fight for you?” Edward says with a red face. “You fucking pansy!”
He suddenly throws his head forward, hitting Marc in the face with it. I hear a sickening crack and for a moment Marc loses focus on the fight. Of course, that’s all Edward needs. He overpowers Marc, spinning them around, throwing Marc to the side as he stands up and turns to face me.
“Stay back!”
“Come here, you fucking bitch.”
I’m moving backward, not seeing where I’m going. He’s walking toward me, his eyes burning, every one of his strides taking up two of mine. He’s gaining on me.
“Stay back!”
Suddenly I feel my feet hit something—the workstation—and I start to fall backward. It’s at that moment that Edward reaches me, but the loss of balance causes all of my muscles to seize. Even the finger that’s on the trigger.
BAM!
He freezes. I freeze. I feel the warmth of his blood on my hands before I even realize what it is.
It’s like his batteries have been taken out. All the fight has drained out of him. His face no longer holds an expression of anger now, but instead one of shock.
And then he falls over onto his side. His shoulder hits the concrete hard, but he’s still got enough strength to stop his head from hitting it. After that he relaxes, blood pumping out from his stomach in thick pulses.
“Oh my God, Edward!”
“Holy shit.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry!”
I drop to my knees and let the gun go, hearing it clatter on the concrete beside me. He could easily grab it now. But the fight is over. We both know it. His face is going pale. I see Marc and Julian and Rebekka step toward us, but I’m the only one on my knees. Edward coughs, and blood flecks his lips.
“Persephone,” he says in a low croak. One of his hands is on the wound, coating his fingers in red. I can feel tears in my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I cry. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t—”
“Persephone.” He swallows, wincing as he does. “I’m your father, Persephone.”
I swallow back some snot, and nod.
“I know,” I say as fresh tears stream from my eyes. Despite Edward’s weakening state, he manages to furrow his brow.
“What? You … you knew?”
I nod again, swallowing. “Yeah. I knew I recognized you. My second day here I figured it out.”
“Wh … why didn’t you …”
But I shake my head. “Because. That life is behind us. That’s not who you are now.”
He blinks, and now I see a wetness form between his eyelids.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice lower than ever. There’s no color left in his face. A tear crawls down his cheek to mingle in his hair.
I shake my head. “It’s okay,” I tell him.
His lip quivers, and then he takes a breath, sudden, short. He freezes, and when he lets it out, he’s gone.
Marc
The warehouse is quiet. Nobody says anything. The only sounds are the intermittent whines of the air conditioner and Persephone’s occasional sniff. Eventually she stands up. She looks at all three of us—Rebekka, Julian, and myself—her eyes resting on me last.
“You knew he was your dad?” I ask her.
Persephone nods, then narrows her eyes.
“Did you know?”
I sort of tilt my head. “I saw him looking at a picture today … there was a little girl in it. It looked like you.”
Persephone blinks. “Were we standing in front of our old house?”
“I mean, I guess so. It looked like you and him and your mom. And yeah, you were in front of a house.”
She chuckles to herself and shakes her head. “Mom always accused me of losing that one.”
A beat of silence goes by, and then Rebekka clears her throat.
“So … what now?”
“You mean, what do we do about Edward?”
“I mean everything. The client is coming tomorrow. And after that?”
“Edward was the one who ran everything,” I admit. “But to be honest, I’ve been having some second thoughts about this job.”
I look at Persephone and she looks back at me.
“I have an idea,” she says to us. “It’ll take some work, but I think we could do it.”
“What are you thinking?” Julian asks.
And then Persephone tells us. At first I wonder if she’s just thinking about herself, her plan reminding me of our previous conversations. But the more she tells it, the more it actually makes sense.
“What do you think?” she asks Julian.
He’s nodding. “I think I can finish the rest. You’re right, though. It’ll take a while.”
“I can work alongside you,” she says.
“We can help,” Rebekka pipes in. “Marc and I will take care of Edward, just in case he comes inside. I don’t think he will, but just in case.”
“My car’s here,” Persephone says, as though suddenly realizing.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her before she can go on. “I’ll make sure they don’t see it.”
“All right then,” says Julian, an excited glint in his eyes. “Let’s get to work.”
It does take a while. All night, in fact. It’s not long before Rebekka and I have done everything we can do on our own. After that we’re just helping Persephone and Julian, fetching tools or materials as they’re needed. They work fast—faster than I’ve seen Julian work before. And Persephone definitely knows what she’s doing. I guess after devoting her entire life to the subject matter, she doesn’t need something like a reference. She just knows it all by heart.
We end up going through the rest of our stock of instant coffee. That’s funny, considering. Any other food we can take we pack away. I grab the book on Greece, the one that Persephone liked. Soon enough it’s morning, and even though my eyes are burning I feel charged and ready to go.
“How’s it coming?” I ask Persephone and Julian as I approach their workstation.
“I think we’re on the last one,” Julian says, putting the finishing touches on a bracelet.
“Here, let me see that,” Persephone says.
Julian finishes what he’s doing and hands it to her, which she inspects with her nose mere inches from it.
“Good. Good.” She looks up and gives him a smile. “This is really good. I can’t tell the difference at all.”
“So that’s it?” I ask.
“Yep. Let’s pack them away.”
“Good. I think they should be arriving any time now.”
We get everything put into the smaller crates, and not a moment too soon. It’s only a minute after we’ve put the last lid on the box that there’s a loud knock at the door.
I look around at everyone, finally landing on Persephone.
“They’re here. Like a mouse, okay?”
“Don’t worry,” she says, and she leans up to give me a kiss. “I won’t make a peep.”
Persephone starts taking off her shoes, and I leave the common area, winding through the corridors until I reach the front door. Three loud knocks echo through the metal and I yank it open to see Dr. Coolidge standing there. Behind her are two cars, one demure, the other black with tinted windows. The client.
Dr. Coolidge, however, is the only person in sight. She furrows her brow when she sees me.
“Where’s Edward?” she asks.
I shrug. “Beats me. We woke up and he wasn’t here.”
Dr. Coolidge blinks. “He wasn’t here?”
“Yeah. This happens sometimes,” I tell her before she can ask any questions. “Survivalist.
Sometimes he goes on walkabouts. It’s usually when he’s stressed out about something. He should be back by the evening, though, if you want to wait for him.”
“What? No, I don’t want to wait for him.”
“Okay. Well,” I glance back into the warehouse, “we’ve got the artifacts ready. Want us to bring them out?”
“What? Yes. Yeah, sure. Bring them out.”
“Wait here.”
I let the door close on her and make my way through the corridors again to the common area. Rebekka and Julian are standing by the smaller crates. Persephone’s nowhere to be found.
“All good?” Rebekka asks.
“Yep. Let’s bring them out.”
We each pick up a crate, leaving two behind. Walking in single file, the three of us snake through the corridor again until we reach the door. I turn around and push against it with my back, stepping out and holding the door open for Rebekka and Julian to pass through.
“Where do you want these?” I ask, looking at the dark car with tinted windows. A second passes and then the driver-side door opens, where a large, muscled man steps out. He’s wearing a black suit, and how he’s not sweating buckets in that thing I’ll never know. He looks around, taking his time, until eventually he steps up to the back passenger door and opens it.
Inside is a man in a pristine white suit. He’s older, mostly bald, with sunglasses on his face and wrinkles on his skin. He steps out. He’s short, shorter than I imagined. I don’t know the man’s name. I’m not even sure Edward would have known it.
He smiles when he looks at the three of us.
“Those are the artifacts?” he asks us. I nod.
“Where do you want them?”
“Mr. Brown here can show you.”
The muscled driver, who so far hasn’t said anything, walks to the back of the car and opens up the trunk. Rebekka, Julian, and I make our way over. It’s a surprisingly spacious trunk, and the crates fit in easily with room to spare.
“That isn’t everything,” the client says. It’s not a question.
“There are two more crates,” I tell him, and Rebekka and Julian leave to go get them without needing to be told. That leaves me standing outside with the client, Mr. Brown, and Dr. Coolidge. The client’s smile never goes away, even as he looks me up and down.
