Farah Rishi - I Hope You Get This Message

It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the only one they had.

According to one of the only locals they’d found roaming through the tent city, the closest counseling center—and the only one in Roswell—was called La Familia Crisis Center, about a forty-minute walk from where they were now on North Main Street.

Or it should have been forty minutes. But navigating through the crowds and taking detours to avoid the more dangerous-looking roads, where people were shooting off fireworks and setting fires and bashing in windows, set them back over an hour.

Alma hadn’t even done anything yet, and already people were falling apart at the seams. Almost like they were proving Alma’s point. It was getting harder and harder for Adeem to convince himself they were better than this.

When they finally reached La Familia Crisis Center, the sky had gone gray and whispery with dusk. What little hope Adeem had had before promptly burned down to ashes. The small, tan, boxy building had been splattered with graffiti, and the door was nothing but a jumble of glass on cement. Broken beer bottles scattered the sidewalk leading to the entrance, and one of the trees had been ripped clean out of its roots; they had to step over it to reach the remains of the door. Adeem thought he heard music, too, coming from inside, but he couldn’t tell for sure—there was so much noise everywhere, it was impossible to filter.

“You still have the pepper spray?” Adeem asked. He didn’t want to go inside. His heart slammed hard against his ribs, making his breathing shallow. What if Leyla had been caught up in all the destruction? What if she was hurt? He didn’t want to imagine. But it was all the more reason for him to keep going.

Cate nodded, looking as nervous as he felt, and pulled the pepper spray out from her bag.

Together they went inside.

A thin layer of smoke tinged the air. Dirty shoes had trekked dirt and sand all over the gray carpeted hallway. His parents would have had a fit. A couple of overturned plants contributed to the mess on the floor—these, Cate quickly turned back to their rightful place.

The music inside grew louder: a woman’s voice, melodic and calming, undulating like gentle ocean waves on a hot summer day. But there were no screams, no moans—nothing that would indicate they were in any sort of danger. Nothing but the music.

Adeem stopped walking. “Cate?”

“What?”

They’d reached another door labeled MULTIPURPOSE CHAMBER at the end of the hall.

“I think we’re safe here. Relatively.”

Cate lowered the pepper spray. “Why do you say that?”

He slowly opened the door. “Because they’re playing Enya.”

A group of at least fifteen people were arranged in a circle around a small bonfire, contained by chunks of cement and debris arranged in a ring. They sat on yoga mats, their legs crossed, and their hands together at their hearts in prayer. The room was dim, lit only by the flickering fire, and smelled entirely of lavender and sage.

It was… strange, to say the least. Like Adeem and Cate had entered some kind of magical vortex existing outside the confines of time and space. It was probably the most ordinary thing they’d seen since arriving in Roswell.

One of the people by the bonfire, a young man with a bun at the top of his head and a long, rumpled beard that almost covered his concave bare chest, opened his eyes. There was a tiny brass gong to the left of his feet.

“Greetings, friends,” he welcomed them. “Please, stay with us a little while. This is a sanctuary for the lost and afraid.”

Adeem and Cate stood awkwardly at the doorway, unsure of what to do.

“Thank you, but we’re kind of in a hurry, actually,” explained Adeem, clearing his throat. “We’re looking for Leyla Khan. Do you know her, or have you maybe heard of her?”

The young man unfolded his hands and placed them on his knees. “Leyla… Leyla… that name sounds familiar.”

“You should pray,” one of the others chimed in, an older woman with long black hair that reached the floor. “Send your message out into the universe.”

“Or perhaps they could use the Hewitt Electronic Communication Center?” added another.

The bearded man shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s been destroyed.”

Adeem wondered if that was the alien communication machine Rosie had mentioned.

“But the name Leyla Khan does sound familiar… If she comes around here, we will tell her another soul searches for her.”

“Sure,” sighed Adeem.

After checking a few other rooms, they had come up with nothing. They found an office, but the entire thing had been turned upside down, and if there were any files or documents, they were gone, or ripped to shreds. No sign of Leyla anywhere. Besides the eclectic group of meditators, and a couple dead goldfish left behind in a broken fish tank near the lobby, the crisis center was completely empty. It was almost ironic, considering the entire world was in a crisis. The place should have been swamped.

Adeem dragged his feet toward the exit. He felt numb. Blank. Like nothing but static was left in his head. Why couldn’t anything go their way, just once? Was this the kind of divine punishment Ty thought he deserved?

Where are you, Leyla?

Suddenly, footsteps bounded behind them.

“I just remembered.” It was the young man with the beard again. His baggy orange pants barely fit around his waist. “Leyla Khan, you said, right?”

“Yeah…” said Adeem, hesitatingly.

The man pointed behind them. “There. That poster.”

He was pointing to a large purple poster board that hung crookedly on the wall. Metallic, bubbly letters spread across the top of the board spelled out, Working to Care for You! And beneath that were several photos of counselors, smiling back at them.

Adeem searched frantically. Jessica Shaw: Marriage Counseling. Linden Lucas: Rehabilitation Counseling. Taylor Griffin: Substance Abuse Counseling.

Leyla Khan: Mental Health Counseling.

His breath hitched.

There she was. The picture had been taken midlaugh; her mouth was wide-open, showing rows of straight white teeth Mom had had no problem reminding her had cost a fortune at the orthodontist. She looked darker, and her hair was longer than he remembered, but in the picture, it was tied up in a horribly messy nest. She still wore that crescent moon necklace Priti had given her. There was a handwritten quote beneath the picture, too.

“Never lose hope, my dear heart,

miracles dwell in the invisible.”

It was her handwriting.

His sister. She was here. She was right here . Adeem felt his knees buckle with relief, but Cate gently held his hand and squeezed.

“We’ll find her,” Cate whispered.

Adeem closed his eyes and squeezed back.

When they got back to the tent city, Adeem was shocked to find the orchestra still playing, though it looked like some of the musicians had traded off with others who’d brought their own, less traditional instruments for a classical orchestra, like banjos, and homemade drum kits made out of plastic bins and bottles. He also noticed a new, albeit small tent structure that definitely hadn’t been there before, suspended between two lampposts; someone had spray-painted the words TENT CITY LIBRARY in neat, flowy cursive across its canvas side. A woman sat outside the makeshift library’s entrance, a Carl Sagan book in her lap, eating from a tan MRE food ration packet. Among the inevitable fire and brimstone that came with knowing humanity only had a little more than a day left of its existence, Adeem hadn’t exactly expected to find spots of beauty. Or relative calm. With raw music casting a warm filter over the prophetic bleakness of night’s descent, it almost felt… hopeful. Though it probably helped that there were soldiers from the nearby military academy with rifles slung over their shoulders, hawk-eyed and silently watching from their posts around the tent city. Adeem shuddered to imagine the state of cities like New York and San Francisco.