Brett Battles - No Return

The question was, should the man follow the motorcycle, the SUV, or just stay where he was?

“Dammit,” he said.

He contemplated his choices for half a second, then started the car.

If it was the wrong decision, he’d hear about it later. But he knew he had to do something.

When in doubt, he thought, keep the target in sight.

Wes hopped on the triumph, not worrying about any potential ticket. With two vehicles they could cover a lot more ground. He’d braced himself for an objection from Anna, but she hadn’t said a word.

They agreed to check in with each other every fifteen minutes, then took off in opposite directions.

Where the hell are you, Tony?

He stopped at bars and restaurants, and cruised around fast-food places, looking through the windows for the show’s missing crew member. But so far, nothing. The periodic check-ins with Anna revealed that she and Alison were faring no better.

Wanting to make sure they covered everything, Wes headed over to Burroughs High. The school was within the Ridgecrest city limits, but was tucked up against the base, with a chain-link fence separating it from Navy property.

The last house Wes and his family had lived in before relocating into town had been in a housing tract known as the B K-parts on the other side of the base fence. Now where there had once been lawns and homes, there was only desert and asphalt streets leading nowhere.

He tried to remember exactly where his house had stood, but even the trees that had been planted throughout the neighborhood were gone. He visualized the walk he used to take home every day, watching his imaginary self make the journey again. There , he thought after a few moments. Right there .

Maybe .

The truth was, without any definitive markers he was only able to approximate its location. He felt hollow, like a part of his life had never existed.

He turned his attention to the still-standing school.

There were only two cars in the faculty parking lot, a Honda Accord and an old Dodge pickup. Both had faculty stickers in their windows, the pickup also sporting a Burroughs Burros booster bumper sticker on the tailgate.

Burroughs was basically an outdoor campus-long, rectangular buildings separated by wide areas of dirt and the occasional bit of grass. Wes drove the bike up a handicap ramp and onto the sidewalk, then slowly moved in and around the different halls. When he’d covered everything, he stopped near the administration building and called Anna.

“Anything?” he asked.

“Not a sign. How about you?”

“Same. Where are you now?”

“Just checked out a place called Lucky Liquor. Showed them a picture Alison had on her camera of Tony, but no one recognized him.”

He frowned. “Let’s give it another hour, then meet back at the motel. We should be able to cover most of the likely spots by then.”

“All right.”

Wes looked around at the school. Tony wasn’t here, had never been here. It had been a long shot at best. Anna and Alison were more likely to find a lead at Lucky Liquor than he had been riding around Burroughs.

He sped away from the high school and turned back onto China Lake Boulevard, passing the McDonald’s he’d worked at the summer before his junior year, then turned left on Ridgecrest Boulevard.

He checked the bar where he’d found Lars that morning, then two more before he ended up on the road to the fairgrounds at the eastern edge of town. These were the grounds used by traveling carnivals that, when Wes lived there, had come to town twice a year. He drove slowly along the west side, but saw no one.

Just as he was about to head back toward town, a sign at the far end of the facility caught his eye.

RIDGECREST MEMORIAL CEMETERY

At the bottom was a large black arrow pointing left down an intersecting road.

Wes checked the time, hesitated, then took the turn.

There were a few scattered houses off to either side, but the desert between them grew wider and wider the farther he went, until only the space between remained.

It was another few minutes before he reached a wrought-iron gate built into the middle of a five-foot-high cinder-block wall. He pulled to a stop in the small, empty parking area and cut the engine.

Beyond the gate, the graveyard stretched outward for several acres, surrounded on all sides by more wall. It was mostly covered with green, but there were more than a few spots of brown where the grass had lost the battle against the relentless heat and sun.

All the markers were embedded in the ground, the majority white marble. Because of the fierce winds in the spring and the fall, old-fashioned vertical markers would never have lasted for long.

Wes spotted a small enclosure against the wall near the gate. Above the doorless entry a sign read direcTORY. Wes flipped through the pages, finding the name he was looking for about a third of the way through. The grid number was E68. He consulted the map at the front of the book, then set off across the cemetery.

When he got to the correct area, it took him a few moments to find the marker he was looking for.

Amanda “Mandy” Johansson

Beloved Daughter

Cherished Sister

Below that were the dates of her birth and death.

If Lars hadn’t gotten the job first, Mandy would have been Wes’s best friend. As it was, they had been close since meeting in Mr. Raef’s English class at Murray Junior High.

“It wasn’t your fault, Mandy,” Wes said. He removed a couple of stray blades of grass from her marker. “I should have come back … I’m … I’m sorry.”

The only person who saw them leave was Michael Dillman.

“Don’t tell me you’re going home already?” Dillman had asked.

“Beer run,” Lars announced.

Dillman grinned. “Cool. Bring me back a couple, huh? Something good.”

“You got it,” Lars shouted over his shoulder.

Dillman wandered back toward the path to the party while Wes, Lars, and Mandy climbed into the VW van.

They rode down the hill in silence, both Wes and Lars stealing glances at Mandy and at each other. Mandy, though, had withdrawn into herself and was staring blankly at the dashboard.

“It’s going to be all right,” Wes said, just before they reached the highway.

She mumbled something, then shook her head.

“It’ll be fine,” Lars said, trying to sound upbeat.

“It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have been … I shouldn’t have …”

“Mandy, there’s no way it’s your fault.” Wes looked over at her. “You can’t think that way.”

“It is my fault! Who else’s could it be? Oh, God, I can’t believe it.”

Wes veered the van to the side of the road and stopped. He turned to her and grabbed her hands. She jerked back slightly, but he didn’t let go. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. Not a damn thing. You are not to blame for what happened.”

She looked up. In her eyes Wes could see fear and helplessness and despair.

Her hands began trembling in his. “Someone’s going to find out,” she whispered. “And when they do …” Her gaze started to dart around, panicked. “I need to get out.” She pulled her hands away, and grabbed at the door handle, but missed. “I need to get out!”

Wes reached for her shoulder. “Hold on.”

She screamed, “No!” Then she shoved the handle downward. The door opened and she all but fell outside.

“Mandy!” Wes yelled.

She stumbled away from the van, into the darkness.

Without a word, both Wes and Lars jumped out and ran across the desert after her. When they finally reached her, she was on the ground, retching and crying. For the next thirty minutes, they could do little but watch that she didn’t hurt herself as she sobbed. Finally they tried to coax her back to the van.