Bad Land

by Jonathan Yanez

  Jonah scowled. “Are you stupid, boy? I just told you. The same people who adopted me and all of those orphans are still here in the canyon today. They kidnapped and killed Barbara for a sacrifice.”

  “Why would they sacrifice anyone?”

  “Well, if I knew that, I would have told you, wouldn’t I?”

  “So wait a minute. If this tragic event happened to you all those years ago and you escaped, why are you back here? Why are you living on this canyon road?”

  Jonah took a deep breath, and for the first time, Marshall saw something other than anger and distrust behind his eyes. “I tried. God knows I tried. I got as far away as I could. Even started a family of my own. But I could never forget what happened. No matter how hard I tried to suppress the memory, it always came back. I would be fine for years and then it would hit me out of nowhere. I would see Melissa’s terrified face so vividly and I would remember that I stood by and did nothing. After my wife died and my own children had grown up, I found myself drawn to this place. For what, I still don’t know. To try and save someone else from Melissa’s fate? To watch over Samantha? To punish myself and live in my own guilt? I don’t know. The only thing that makes any sense is that I know I’m supposed to be here.”

  “And you haven’t told anyone else about this? You never went to the police?”

  “The police? I ran away back then, and if I went to the police now without a shred of evidence, how fast do you think they would kick me out?”

  Marshall nodded in agreement. “So you think this cult or whatever it is, is still in the area and sacrificing people to who or whatever.”

  Jonah’s lips quivered in a near snarl as he got up slowly from his chair. “If you don’t believe me, you can get out. No one is keeping you here.”

  Marshall raised both arms, palms toward Jonah in a sign of surrender. “I didn’t say that. I do believe you. I’m just trying to understand all of this.”

  Jonah crossed his arms but the snarl left his lips.

  Marshall continued. “So why haven’t you gone deeper into the canyon and tried to find the estate?”

  “I have tried that, but so much has changed in the sixty years since I left. I was barely a boy when I was there. I can’t find the mansion I remember and what’s to say it’s still even standing or something hasn’t been built over the property?”

  More and more of the puzzle pieces were fitting together if he chose to believe Jonah’s story. He had no reason not to, and it seemed like things were making too much sense to be a coincidence. Marshall stood. “Thank you for all of this information. I’ll start looking into cult activity in the area and I might even be able to pull records from orphanages during that time. Maybe I can put a name to the man who was adopting children.”

  “Sacrificing.”

  “What?”

  “You said ‘adopting children.’ You meant to say ‘sacrificing children.’”

  “Right. Sacrificing.” Even as Marshall said this, he felt a chill run down his spine. He turned to go and Jonah walked him to the door.

  “Oh, and Marshall? Let’s not tell Samantha about any of this, okay? She already worries about me enough.”

  Marshall approached his car once again, wary that another note would be waiting for him, but there was nothing this time. He sat in his car thinking before he put the key in the ignition. Do you really believe Jonah’s story? How accurate could his memory be? He might even be confused. He might think he’s telling the truth but… How am I supposed to know if—

  Marshall dug into his pocket and opened his wallet, picking out the cream business card Samantha had given him the day before. Making up his mind, he justified to himself that he was visiting Samantha only to validate her grandfather’s honesty and sanity. He punched in the address on the business card to the GPS on his phone. Within seconds he was on his way to her mechanic shop.

  Samantha’s shop was located in the downtown section of the city. Marshall didn’t know what to expect as he scanned the addresses on the street for her shop. Then a pink and black sign caught his eye that read, The Shop in big bold letters. Underneath in a smaller font, it said, “Don’t call a man for a woman’s job.”

  Marshall grinned as he pulled into the large lot and parked his car. There were a few other muscle cars in the parking lot, all of which put his car to shame. There was a fire engine red Malibu Super Sport and a canary yellow Camaro that looked so clean you could eat off the hood. And then, like icing on the cake, there was a classic, flat black painted motorcycle Marshall didn’t recognize at first. As he got closer, he saw white painted words that read Triumph on the side. Marshall had to tear his eyes away from the workmanship and focus on the actual garage as he made his way up the driveway.

  It was a large building with an office in the front that led into a workshop with enough room to fit three to four cars. The inside of the office was painted white with pictures of cars and motorcycles lining the walls. There was a comfortable looking desk at the end and a few plants to add color. All in all, it was the nicest, cleanest mechanic shop Marshall had ever visited.

  The sound of a metallic tool hitting the cement floor turned his attention to the garage. He walked into the large work area. There were a pair of slender legs clothed in a blue full-body mechanic suit with black boots on the feet. Marshall could only see the person from the waist down. The top half was under the body of an old pick-up.

  “Marshall, can you hand me that wrench I dropped by your foot?”

  Marshall almost jumped at the mention of his name and he had to remember to close his mouth before he bent down to pick up the silver wrench. “How did you know it was me?”

  “I could hear your well tuned muscle car drive up and park.” She reached a hand out and took the wrench from him, the upper half of her body still concealed by the truck. “No wingman today?”

  Marshall had to smile at her mention of George. “No. Not today. He decided to sleep in and stay home.”

  “Poor little guy he has such a hard life.”

  Marshall had to laugh out loud. “You’re telling me.”

  “There, that should work.” Samantha scooted herself out from under the truck and wiped the perspiration from her forehead.

  Marshall took a visible step back and reminded himself to keep eye contact.

  Samantha’s blue mechanic jumpsuit only made it up to her curvy waist where the arms of the suit were wrapped around her mid section. Covering her top was a purple sports bra. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and a smudge of grease was painted like a lightning bolt on her left cheek.

  Samantha raised an eyebrow as Marshall stared at her, unable to find words. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

  Marshall was relieved to tell her that she actually did have something on her cheek and save himself the embarrassment of admitting he was staring at her. “Uh, yeah, you do. Right here.” Marshall pointed to his own cheek.

  “Oh, thanks,” Samantha said, producing a red handkerchief from her back pocket. She wiped her face. “So I’m glad you decided to stop by. Want a tour?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, this,” she said, opening her arms wide and turning to take in the workshop, “is my Batcave, or Fortress of Solitude, or X-mansion, if you’re a Marvel Comics fan.”

  Marshall smiled at the references. “Yes, I can see your very own Starship Enterprise, Hogwarts, or Iron Throne.”

  Samantha turned and smiled. “Oh, a learned man.”

  Marshall followed her as she walked him down the workshop and back to the office. “I know it’s going to sound like I’m just saying this, but I mean it when I say, your shop is the nicest, cleanest garage I’ve ever seen.”

  “Well, thank you.” Samantha plopped herself down behind her desk and motioned for Marshall to take a seat. “So what brings you to my neck of the woods? Thinking about refurbishing your Mustang?”

  Marshall hated to disappoint her, especially as he caught the hope in her voice
. “Actually, I’m still working on the story about the young girl’s death in the canyon, and I know you didn’t see anything, but I was wondering how solid your grandfather’s word was.”

  Samantha cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean?”

  Marshall had to choose his words wisely in order to keep from lying to her and also uphold his word to Jonah. “I mean, if I was to quote your grandfather in my article. I’m not saying he would lie, but since he is older—”

  “Oh, you’re asking me if he’s crazy or a bit forgetful.”

  Marshall nodded. “Exactly.”

  “You could have just asked me, Mr. Professional. And no. To answer your question, he’s not one to embellish the truth or make up stories, and he has a great memory. I would take whatever he told you to the bank.”

  Marshall was quiet as he processed the information. So Jonah was telling the truth. Now he had no other option but to look into and research the terrifying story he had been told that morning.

  “Now about your car…”

  Marshall was pulled back to reality. Samantha had reached under her desk and pulled out two energy drinks, offering one to Marshall.

  “Sure, thanks. I think I’ve managed to trick my body into running off caffeine instead of food.”

  Samantha popped her own lid and took in a long draught. “You’re telling me. I know money doesn’t buy happiness, but it definitely buys caffeine, and that’s kind of the same thing.”

  Marshall and Samantha laughed as they took another sip of their neon colored caffeinated drinks.

  “But all joking aside, I’d like to take a look at your car. It would be a shame to let a classic like that tumble down the dark valley into junkyardness.”

  Marshall nodded. “I’d be fine with that, but I can’t leave it here. I need it to get to work and back.”

  “Mmmmm…” Samantha said, her eyes big in a joking expression. “If only the garage you were dropping it off at had a car you could drive in the meantime.”

  Marshall caught her drift. “You mean those cars and motorcycle in the lot are yours?”

  “Wow, wow, wow. I’m a nice gal and all, but I offered a borrowed car. I’m driving the motorcycle home tonight.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re willing to give me caffeine, take a look at my car, and let me borrow a car to drive?”

  “Yep. I guess so. You can call me Saint Samantha.”

  “Why are you so nice to me?”

  Samantha shrugged her shoulders. “You talked to my grandfather and he carried a conversation with you for awhile.” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “And he hates everyone. Like I mean everyone.”

  Marshall laughed.

  “And,” Samantha continued, “You stood up to him, you like old cars like I do even if you don’t take care of them, and you took me up on my offer to visit the shop. Oh, and your wingman is adorably cute.”

  “Well, if that isn’t reason enough, I don’t know what is. But you have to let me pay you for looking at my car.”

  “Of course. I’m not running a charity here.”

  Chapter 13

  Marshall waved goodbye to Samantha as he pulled out into the street in the canary yellow Camaro. She smiled and waved back until he was out of sight.

  She likes cars and motorcycles, she likes comics, science fiction and fantasy, and she’s ridiculously good looking. Why didn’t you ask her out?

  Marshall knew this wasn’t what he should be thinking about right now but he couldn’t help himself. Good looks and a mature, driven personality had always brought Marshall fortune when it came to the opposite sex but he was so focused on his career he had never made time for a serious girlfriend. This was a perfect example.

  Marshall needed to focus on Barbara Summers and the new information he had found on the canyon. He had no reason to disregard Jonah’s information now that he had confirmation from Samantha. He felt like he was getting closer and closer to making a breakthrough. He was just missing a few parts of the story.

  Despite his intention to keep his thoughts on the research he had to do when he reached the office, he couldn’t help but smile. His hands glided around the wooden steering wheel and he felt the engine’s finely tuned purrs as his foot hit the gas pedal. Nor could he ignore the rumbling in his stomach as he pulled through a hamburger drive thru and ordered a double cheeseburger and shake.

  “Wow, nice car, Marshall!” the freckled faced, teenage drive-thru attendant commented.

  “Thanks, man, it’s a borrow.”

  “Cool. Here’s your order. See you tomorrow?”

  Marshall smiled at the server he had come to know on a first name basis. “Yeah, probably. Do think it’s bad I come here so often?”

  The young boy turned his lower lip upward. “Hey, man, when you gotta eat, you gotta eat, right?”

  “Right.”

  Marshall soon pulled up to the Hermes, still chewing the last bit of burger, and took the elevator up to his office. He nodded hellos to his colleagues as he made his way to his office and shut the door. He wasn’t trying to be anti-social, but he had work to do, and if certain people like Ann got to talking, there was no way he was going to get to the bottom of Barbara Summers’ death and what had happened to Jonah as a small boy.

  As the computer turned on, Marshall thought back on what he knew. He knew that for years the area had been a battleground for American Indians. He knew that two families had founded the county and had a falling out, with the Lloyds gaining control and the Whitmer name falling from the history books. Now he also knew that there was some kind of group or cult that sacrificed children in the area while Jonah was a boy. The two missing pieces were what had the Indians and the two founding families been fighting over and why did the cult make human sacrifices.

  Just as before, Marshall’s fingers flew over the keyboard like an artist painting a portrait. This time he had an idea of what he wanted to find. His net was getting more and more refined and the truth was sure to come out. He researched Native American stories and legends in the area. He found everything he could on the Lloyd and Whitmer families and even did an in-depth search on orphanages in the area and reports of child deaths in the county.

  It was as if someone had gone through and intentionally taken out any mention of what had caused the two families to disagree. Likewise, there were no reports on missing children or unexplained child deaths in the area. Frustrated, Marshall leaned back and stretched his aching fingers.

  His less than healthy lunch rumbled in his stomach as he stared into space, thinking about what he was missing. There was an answer to his question, he knew that much, but what was it? The entire internet was at his command. Nearly every piece of knowledge was at his disposal, yet he couldn’t get his answer. The Lloyd and Whitmer families had to have living descendants. Perhaps those descendants where even his boss Diane Whitmer and Lieutenant Lloyd at the precinct. But the odds of that had to be a million to one.

  That’s when Marshall knew where he hadn’t looked. He attacked the keyboard with a newfound intensity and researched the Lloyd family tree. He started with the names of the Lloyds who had founded the county and worked his way down.

  The computer screen blinked back with a response he didn’t expect. No Lloyd matching his search could be found. The names of the original founding Lloyd family could not be located, even though there were numerous reports and historical documentation naming them as the co-founders of the county.

  Marshall filled out a new search. This time he entered in the Whitmer name. Results filled the screen. The founding Whitmer family had become all but extinct. Starting with the founding family and working down the family tree, only one living family member remained and he knew her by name. His boss, Diane Whitmer, was the last living relative of the original Whitmer family.

  There was a knock on his door. Marshall jumped as his mind still ran through the possibilities and scenarios of what this latest revelation could mean. Everything from
a total coincidence to the idea that the boss he had known all these years was involved in human sacrifices.

  “Come—come in.”

  His door swung open and Diane Whitmer walked in. She closed the door quickly behind her. Diane’s short red hair, stylish as ever, contrasted with her dark gray skirt suit in a sinister way.

  “Marshall, there’s no need to pretend anymore. You do realize I have every computer terminal in my building wired to my own. They’re set to flag any search I deem fit, and when you started searching the ancestry of my family—well, I thought it was time for a chat.”

  Marshall’s heart was in his throat and he had to remind himself to breathe. This was his boss, the hard but fair-minded woman who had given him his first internship and job and pushed him to be the reporter he was today. There was no reason to be scared of her. There was no way she could be involved in all of this. Marshall made a split second decision to play dumb and feign knowledge of the cult activity. “Oh, well, that seems a bit rash. I didn’t realize we were monitored by Big Brother. I was doing a search on the two founding families to see if there was anyone I could interview for my piece on the county’s history.”

  Diane clearly didn’t believe him. Marshall didn’t even need her to open her mouth to confirm this, but she did anyway. “Really? So the fact that I’m a relative of the founding family doesn’t surprise you?”

  “No. I imagined you were from a respected family.”

  “And the other founding family?”

  “The Lloyds? I haven’t been able to track down their surviving family members. It’s strange—it’s almost as if they didn’t exist.”

  “Yes, very strange.”

  The two sat staring at one another—each of them knowing the other knew more than they were saying. There was a huge thickness in the room that neither was willing to address. Marshall spoke again. “I wasn’t trying to pry into your past, I just wanted an interview. Maybe we can set one up soon and go over what you know of your ancestors?”