Lunar City

by Samantha Cross

  “Hey, there’s a beach here,” Melanie noted.

  Miles down the center street of Lunar City, I spotted blue waves of water crashing against a sandy landscape. The street was so narrow, with several cars aligning it on each side that it was like I was looking at the beach through a key hole. The weather was pretty depressing, so it looked as though the beach had no activity going on, but it ran along the entire west coast of the city, so perhaps I just hadn’t spotted any beach goers.

  The city, despite how many buildings there were, was actually quite small, like a dwarf sized New Orleans minus the traffic. On certain streets, the taller buildings even had balconies on the highest floor, resembling the French Quarter of New Orleans.

  The core of the city looked to be a lot of apartment buildings, and as we drove by, we saw several people standing on the sidewalk, leaned against stop signs smoking and engaging in conversation. One group appeared to be a bunch of beach bums, wearing flip-flops and cut-off shorts that exposed perfectly tanned skin and toned legs. With how crummy the weather was today, it couldn’t have been any warmer than seventy degrees, yet they appeared as comfortable as if it were ninety-five. As soon as my yellow Bug passed by, every single pair of eyes from that group were on us, scoping us out with a territorial gaze. One look from them and I was fully aware how much we didn’t belong here.

  Of course, laying low was nearly impossible with Melanie in the car. Her head was out the window gawking at the shirtless men on the streets.

  “Did you see that guy? Oh, I think I’m going to like it here.”

  My mind went elsewhere. Instead of growing envious over the good looking people hanging around the apartment buildings, all I wondered was just how human they were. Were they like Max, cursed by a bite that now forced them to turn on a monthly basis? Or were there average people living among them in this city, unaware of what kind of neighbors they had? Hell, maybe they knew about it, and werewolves were just an accepted truth around these parts.

  I traveled to the outskirts of the town in search of the motel I found online. It was pretty isolated from the warm, yellow hued lights of the buildings and stores in the main area, but it was near the lake, so at least there was some kind of attraction, even if the lake portion we got wasn’t sandy and instead, a dreary docking area with overgrown grass. I wasn’t exactly sure how I wanted to start my search for Max, but checking into a place I could store all the stuff I carried in my car, as well as having a place to catch my breath and have a thought was a good beginning.

  There was a big sign above the door that read Solstice Motel, and beneath it was a lit up green arrow that blinked in and out. The fact that they couldn’t afford to fix the lightbulbs for their sign was a good indicator of what kind of motel we were checking into. I just prayed there wasn’t a dead body in the shower or something.

  Once at the entrance, Melanie turned to me, her face scrunched and her nose turned upward. “Really, Cora?” she asked. “This is the best you can do?”

  “I eat cereal for breakfast half the time,” I admitted. “This is, in fact, the best I can do.”

  “You should have said something and I would have gotten us into somewhere a little swankier. I do still have my ex’s credit card.”

  “You know, he’s had to have canceled that by now.”

  “He has, like, ten of these. I doubt he notices.”

  “Fine, you’re paying for dinner then,” I compromised, and then attempted to pull open the motel entrance doors, only it was stuck shut like someone had jammed gum in the hinges. I pulled and I pulled, and when the thing finally popped open, I almost fell on my ass, and then this monstrous looking bat flew out and flapped its wings in our faces. Melanie and I erupted into the most pathetic girlish screams you can imagine, and in that moment, I was reminded just how related we really were.

  Once the bat disappeared into the darkness—undoubtedly scarred for life by our ear piercing yelling—we went inside the building. Just in time, too, because I could hear rolling thunder, and I knew a storm was brewing.

  The desk clerk waited for us in the tiniest lobby I think I had ever seen. There was just one outdated 1970’s looking chair in the corner of the room by a fake plant, and then the desk where the man worked. He had a giant dark fro he pulled back with a hair tie, and even though it was dark outside, he still sported a pair of sunglasses. “Can we get a room…” I eyed his shirt for a nametag, “…Adam?”

  “A good one,” Melanie piped in, as though that would somehow make a difference. What’s a good room in a dump like this, one that no one has died in?

  “You know what?” I said quickly, “Do you have adjoining rooms?”

  “We do,” Adam said, and then retreated in the back to fetch us our room keys.

  “That was rude,” Melanie said quietly.

  I whipped my head back and forth, looking around the room for traces of something I had done wrong. “What?”

  “Getting conjoined rooms like we’re strangers. We’ve taken baths together when we were children, Cora, I don’t think sleeping in the same room is such a big deal.”

  “We also used to crap our pants, but you don’t see me doing that. Besides, you’re not a picnic to sleep with. You snore.”

  “I only snore when I drink.”

  “And you only drink every time you’re awake.”

  “Maybe it’s to help me sleep.”

  “Where you snore, which keeps me up.”

  Adam, the desk clerk, returned with our keys and billed me. We grabbed a couple of sleeping bags and clothes from the car real quick and then headed upstairs.

  The rooms looked their price; cheap. The bathroom was the size of a closet, the television looked like it was produced in the 1990’s, and the bed squeaked like a dying pterodactyl when I sat on it. At least it looked bug free.

  “I can’t wait to see my room,” Melanie said bitterly. She approached the conjoined door that led to her room and when she tugged on the doorknob, it came right off and she stumbled back a step. She lifted the silver knob in her hand and gave me a this is all your fault look.

  “We can use the hole to keep an eye on each other,” I said optimistically and then shrugged.

  “How am I supposed to get in my room now?”

  “Use the other door.”

  “I didn’t come with you so we could lock ourselves in separate rooms. I don’t do well sitting by myself in a room for too long. I go stir crazy. Can’t you just go downstairs and see if that guy will fix it?”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re the one that wanted separate rooms.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re the one that wanted to come. I didn’t promise anything lavish. I’m a bargain sleeper, so broken doorknobs are to be expected.”

  She groaned. “Just do it.”

  I curled my lips in and made a nasty face. “You’re so bossy,” I said and then stomped my way out of the room with Melanie so close behind me I was likely to charge her rent for living in my ass.

  I slapped my hands down on the front desk, and big fro Adam turned to me with a bored expression. “Hey, uh, we seem to have a runaway doorknob in our room.”

  “Come again?” Adam asked, perplexed.

  “The doorknob to her room fell off. Can you get someone to fix it?”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll call in maintenance.”

  “Great, thanks.” I spun around to face Melanie. “He’s calling a maintenance guy.”

  “A maintenance guy here?” she asked with a worried expression. “In our room? With us? He’s probably a sexual predator.”

  “Melanie,” I snapped, doing my best to shush her. I knew these were seedy parts of the city, but we didn’t need to openly discuss our low opinion of it, especially in front of the desk clerk.

  “Sorry,” she said in a whisper. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea to be alone in a room with some random guy in some broken down city.”

  “Just pretend it’s college night. You’ll feel right at home,”
I remarked.

  Adam returned to the desk and said, “Someone should be up to fix it.”

  “Oh, good, thanks. How long do you think that’ll be?”

  “Ten minutes, maybe.”

  “See? It’ll be fixed in no time,” I told Melanie.

  “Can we go out to eat while we’re waiting? I’m starving.”

  “I don’t even know where we could go,” I admitted. I hadn’t thought of how we were going to eat tonight, only our sleeping arrangements.

  “There’s a pub that sells good food just around the corner,” Adam piped in, pointing toward the door as if the pub was right there for us to see. “It’s a little place on Grey Street, you won’t miss it. They sell the best buffalo wings.”

  “Awesome,” Melanie replied, and then grabbed a hold of my hand. “Now let’s go.” I didn’t know if Melanie was truly that hungry or just wanted an excuse to leave because she was frightened of the repairman, but once she took my hand she didn’t let go, and we were out of that motel building lickety-split.

  Adam was right, we didn’t miss it. Once we hit Grey Street we found a tiny pub along a strip, its exterior painted faded, grayish silver with a large stone archway over the entrance (that reminded me of a tomb in a graveyard), on the outside was a wooden plaque that read: Nancy’s. The city was small enough that with my car we found the place in three minutes. Before Melanie had a chance to get out of the car, I grabbed her arm and nearly yanked it out of its socket.

  “Please, for the love of God, don’t get drunk again,” I pleaded.

  Her eyes flipped to the back of her head. “I wasn’t even drunk last night. Get out of here with that.” She then hopped out of the vehicle and went racing toward the bar. I locked the car up and ran after her like we were in the middle of a game of tag.

  As soon as we opened the door, every single person seated inside that pub looked directly at us. Their eyes were speculative and serious, and I was instantly under the impression that this was one of those areas where everyone knew each other’s name and they knew without question that we were foreign.

  The place was sleek looking, with forest green wallpaper, shiny cinnamon colored hardwood flooring, several polished wooden tables and seats as well as reddish brown leather booths aligned along each wall. The color reminded me of my hair.

  The booths were taken up by groups of men watching a basketball game on one of the plasma flat screen TVs, so Melanie and I snatched up one of the tiny tables. A woman in civilian clothing took our order, making me think she was the owner, and most likely Nancy, and after a few minutes she came back with our food.

  While Melanie devoured the food in front of her, I couldn’t stop scanning the room at the people around us. It was a pub on a Saturday night, and yet everyone was extremely serene, keeping their voices low and only loud enough for the person beside them to hear, and they all looked relaxed in their booths like this was a second home. If they were all regulars here, it was no wonder they gave us the stink eye.

  Even though we were seated, enjoying our meal and keeping to ourselves, I couldn’t shake the feeling that every pair of eyes in the building were watching us carefully, like they were waiting patiently for us to figure it out we shouldn’t be here.

  “Check it out, Cora,” Melanie said, and then stuck a spoon to the tip of her nose and let it hang there for five seconds before it slipped and dropped to the table. She was enthusiastically excited about her achievement. Oh, yes, we didn’t belong here, indeed.

  “Why are you Grandma’s favorite again?” I asked bitterly.

  “Because she loves me and I’m prettier than you.” Any other person I would think was kidding, but I couldn’t be sure with Melanie.

  “Ooh, do you see that guy? He wants me bad.”

  I followed her eyes to a group of men seated at one of the booths behind us, drinking out of large mugs filled with beer and having a rip-roaring time clinking their drinks and talking about the basketball game playing on the TV.

  “You mean that guy who hasn’t looked over here once?” I asked dryly.

  “He’s playing hard to get,” she said, and then reached into a basket of greasy food at our table and began to eat. Her face went still, and she asked, “What is this that I’m eating?”

  “Deep fried green beans.”

  “For real?”

  I nodded and then popped one in my mouth. “Good, huh?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be a city girl? I thought it was only rednecks that liked to deep fry everything in sight.”

  “I don’t eat meat, so I have to have some guilty pleasures.”

  “There’s ice-cream. Or are you not allowed to have dairy?”

  “You’re probably thinking of a vegan. There are vegetarians who consume dairy.”

  “I don’t know how you keep track of all of this.”

  “It’s not hard to remember what I do and don’t like to eat,” I said smugly. I spotted the bartender, a man in his fifties sporting a pair of glasses and a flannel shirt. “I’ll be right back,” I told Melanie and then scurried my way to the bartender. “Hi,” I said to him in my perkiest tone.

  “Anything I can get you?” His voice was husky and aged, but very friendly.

  “Some information might be nice,” I said with an awkward laugh. “I’m looking for an old friend and I heard he was living in town. I was wondering if you could help me. His name is Max Reid.”

  “Max Reid?” He squinted his eyes and looked to the ceiling, as if accessing his memory bank. “I’m not sure, sweetie. I see a lot of people come in here every day.”

  “He has longish brown hair, about neck length, tallish, six-foot at the very least, wears a lot of torn jeans and flannel shirts. Something you could relate to,” I said, pointing at his clothing and giving him a friendly smile. He seemed flattered by my complimenting his sense of style. I was just proud of myself for coming up with a decent description of Max that wasn’t white dude who wears clothes.

  “He sounds familiar, darling, but I see so many boys with crazy hair coming in here nightly that I couldn’t keep track even if I tried.”

  I curled my lips into my mouth, disappointed. “Well, it was worth a shot.”

  I turned away from the friendly bartender and back to my table, and big shock, Melanie was there with two guys.

  “Oh, looky, there’s people.” I grimaced as I inched my way to the table very, very slowly, making sure not to get too close. I no longer wanted to sit down. I wanted Melanie to know I was not okay with this. She promised me we wouldn’t go down this road and yet here we were. The guys even looked the same as the ones last night.

  “Cora, come sit down,” Melanie instructed with a wave.

  “Oh, no, I’m good here.”

  “She’s very shy,” she told the men, and they nodded, believing her.

  “Yes, yes, that must be it,” I said dryly. “Melanie, what’s going on? I thought we talked about this.” I tried to be discreet and not say out loud that I had advised her not to get drunk and throw herself at the local men.

  “No, no, it’s okay. Look, I’ll introduce you. This is Edgar and this is Allen.” She cupped her hand around the corner of her mouth so only I could see her lips moving and whispered, “They’re brothers,” with a flirty tone, as though that somehow made them more attractive. “Guys, this is my cousin, Cora.”

  “Hey, you’re not bad looking,” one of them said while leaned back in his chair, his long hair hanging over his eyes that when he blinked the strands danced. He stared at me, as though waiting for me to jump up and down because he verged on giving me a compliment.

  I ignored him. “Melanie, let’s take our food and head back, okay?”

  “What? No,” she whined. “I introduced you to them for a reason. We were talking and they said they know your friend.”

  I thought this was a trick. “My friend?” I asked, demanding clarification.

  “Max. They said they know him.”

  The guy with the lon
g mutt hair, Edgar, said, “Max Reid, right?”

  Oh, God, he actually knew his name. “Yeah, that’s him,” I said, still skeptical, still waiting for them to say they overheard me at the bar and were pulling my chain. “How do you know him?”

  “He comes in from time to time with a bunch of big dudes.”

  The other guy, Allen, chimed in, “They’re like a gang or something.” I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not, but the idea of Max involved in anything remotely similar to a gang had me worried. I knew Dana had said Max was with a group of people, but was it really gang-like?

  “What do you mean, a gang?” I asked, deciding to probe their brains.

  Edgar shrugged and said, “They’re always together. They arrive together, they drink together, and then they leave together. Some of them don’t even let you talk to them. One of my buddies took one of their chairs and got thrown on his ass for it. Had to go to the emergency room for a sprained wrist.”

  “But how do you know one of them was Max?”

  “Everybody knows them by name. They’re practically goddamn royalty in this city.”

  Melanie intervened by leaning across the table and shimmying her shoulders at the boys. “My cousin is looking for him. He’s, like, her boyfriend or something.”

  Was it really necessary for her to parade my personal business to the local bar boys? Were we in High School?

  “I can tell you where he is,” Edgar said, and suddenly, Melanie’s intrusive behavior was much appreciated. “He lives at the Clementine compound.”

  “Clementine compound?” I repeated. “Sounds like some kind of cleaning product.”

  “It’s a compound owned by the Clementine family. They’re rich as shit.”

  “You think you could be specific about where this place is?”

  He shrugged. “I guess so. It’s right down on Erickson Street—big ass compound about 10 or 15 acres by the lake. You’ll notice it, believe me.”

  “Thanks!” I grabbed my purse, slung it over my shoulder and said, “Come on, Melanie, we’re taking a ride.”