Brett Battles - No Return

There! he thought, angling slightly to the left.

His target was a six-toot-high red cinder-block wall with the words SHERMAN E. BURROUGHS HIGH SCHOOL on the front.

He sprinted flat out, skidding around the wall just as the first set of headlights crested the hill.

He peered around the edge of his hiding place and watched the cars race into his old housing tract. Almost immediately spotlight beams shot out from the windows and began panning across the empty land. One of the cars came near the section of the fence Wes had gone over, but its light never turned toward the high school.

The cars then headed toward Hubbard Circle on the other side of Knox Road. Once they’d moved off, Wes made a dash for the admin building, then moved deeper into the school. By the time he reached the student parking lot near the lecture center, the cars on the base were gone.

He allowed himself a moment to lean against the building and catch his breath. As he did he felt a stinging sensation along his ribs on his right side. He reached down and found an inch-long, upside-down L-shaped tear in his T-shirt. Underneath, his skin was sticky with blood. It must have happened when he’d hopped the fence.

He winced as he probed the wound. He didn’t think it needed stitches, but it did need to be cleaned as soon as possible. Scratched arm, singed wrist, cut on his rib cage, and no doubt bruises everywhere else from the ride in the back of Lars’s truck-there was nothing like coming home.

Wes finally reached the Desert Rose Motel at nearly 2 a.m., a sorry mix of pain and exhaustion. He carefully opened the door to his room so as to not wake Anna, but he needn’t have been so cautious. She wasn’t there. She’d apparently gotten tired of waiting for him and gone back to her own room. He thought about letting her know he was back, but he was just too exhausted. She’d be mad at him in the morning, but he convinced himself it was better to just let her sleep.

He took four Advils, then forced himself into the shower and washed out his wound. The gash was as unattractive as it was painful, but his initial instincts had been correct-he wasn’t going to need any stitches.

Once he was finished with the shower, he found a couple of Band-Aids in his shaving kit and slapped them over the wound-inadequate at best, but better than nothing-then stretched out on the bed with the papers Lars had shoved in his hand. The last thing he remembered was looking at the top sheet and trying to make sense of the words. Sleep had other ideas.

At 7 A.M. Wes woke in the same position he’d fallen asleep in. The papers were in a pile on the bed next to his outstretched hand. He picked them up and shoved them partly under the pile of clothes that were still on the dresser, then trudged into the bathroom.

He skipped a shower and just splashed some water on his face to wake up. He then dressed, threw a Padres baseball cap over his head, and headed out. By the time he got to the SUVs, Dione, Danny, and Monroe were already there.

“What happened?” Dione asked. “You guys have a party last night?”

“Not that I know of,” Wes said.

“Then where the hell is everyone?”

“So glad you’re back, Dione.”

“Please tell me that PA guy is bringing coffee,” Monroe rasped.

If anyone looked like they’d been at a party the night before, it was Monroe. She was wearing dark shades, and had the energy of a piece of petrified wood. Wes, remembering how well she’d bounced back after the night of tequila shots, wondered what she could have done over the weekend to cause her current condition.

Dione took a few steps away from the cars and motioned for Wes to follow her. “Did you read Tony the riot act?”

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Wes said. “I was out last night.”

“Great. So I have to do it.” She frowned, then looked down at the clipboard with her schedule and other information.

Wes winced, remembering the papers Lars had given him.

“What?” she asked.

“Left something in my room.” He looked around. “I’ll be right back.”

“Check on the others while you’re over there,” Dione said. “Tell them to move it.”

“Sure.”

Wes headed across the parking lot, but he’d barely reached the walkway when Alison came racing out of the courtyard passageway.

She immediately spotted him and ran over. “He’s not back,” she said.

“Tony?” Wes said. “I thought-”

“He still hasn’t come back.”

She put a hand on Wes’s arm and started pulling him toward the passageway.

“I was awake until one, and then up again at six,” she told him, her voice panicked. “I’ve already knocked on his door a dozen times.”

Wes stopped her. “Get the manager. I’ll try the door.”

Alison nodded, then headed toward the motel office as Wes ran in the other direction. The first thing he did when he reached Tony’s door was try the knob. As expected, it was locked.

“Tony!” he yelled, pounding on the door. “Tony!”

As he started to yell a third time, Dione came jogging around the corner.

“I saw Alison and she just pointed in this direction,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Tony’s not back,” Wes said. He pounded again. “Tony!”

Just then Alison and Harold Barber, the manager who had given Anna her new room, showed up. Unlike the manager from the day before, Barber immediately stuck the master keycard in the slot and pushed the door open.

Everything in the room was exactly as it had been when they’d checked on Sunday.

“Oh, God,” Alison said.

Wes ran to the phone on the nightstand and called 911.

Two squad cars sped into the parking lot, lights blazing but sirens off. As soon as he saw them, Wes stepped out from between the cars and waved them down.

“What the hell are the police doing here?” Monroe asked.

“Tony’s missing ,” Dione said. “All his stuff is here and he’s not. Something happened to him.”

“Oh,” seemed to be all Monroe could muster.

The two police cars pulled to a stop, and the officers got out-one from the lead car and two from the trailing. Wes walked quickly over.

“Are you the one who placed the call?” the lead officer asked. His nametag read “Rockwell.”

“Yes,” Wes said.

“I understand someone’s missing?”

“Our PA.”

The officer’s brow furrowed. “PA?”

“Production assistant,” Wes explained. “We’re working on a TV show.”

Rockwell nodded. “What’s the missing person’s name?”

Wes spent two minutes giving him details.

Once he was finished, Rockwell said, “Can you show us where his room is?”

“Of course.”

Wes and Alison led the officers to the room. Barber was still there, standing guard at the door. At Rockwell’s direction, he opened it again. The officer and his two colleagues stepped over the threshold and looked in.

“Have any of you been inside?” Rockwell asked.

“A couple of us,” Wes said. “Seeing if he was here.”

“Anyone touch anything?”

“Only me. I used the phone to call you.”

“Okay. We need to secure the scene until the detectives and the techs get here. Stay around, though. They’re going to want to talk to you.”

“We shouldn’t have stopped looking for him yesterday,” Alison said as she and Wes headed back to where the rest of the crew was waiting.

“We wouldn’t have found him,” Wes said. “He was hiking, remember? Maybe he’s lost. Once they find out exactly where he went, they’ll send people to look for him.” As soon as they reached the walkway next to the parking lot, Wes looked around. “Where’s Anna?”