by Jake Parent
“Oh, Anise would love that. I would, too.”
“It’s not much, but it’s my little sanctuary.”
“Wow, sounds great. These mountains are so beautiful.”
He nodded and put a hand on her shoulder. “Shall we continue?”
The next leg of the hike wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. It was still uphill, but nowhere near as steep. And now that they were warmed up, Cristina found she was actually enjoying herself. She tried to remember the last time she’d gone into the wilderness voluntarily and couldn’t.
After her experience as a teenager at The Camp, she’d sort of always been turned off by nature. The mulchy smell of fallen leaves and dirt reminded her too much of being thrown into what had felt to her teenage mind like some kind of psychotic nightmare.
When the girls incarcerated at The Camp weren’t being forced to sew clothes for ten or twelve hours a day, many of the guards – euphemistically referred to as “counselors” – made it a point to try and get them alone.
One afternoon, a fat male guard followed her into an otherwise empty bathroom. He started talking to Cristina through the stall door while she peed. Dirty stuff about how he could smell her womanhood, and other similarly weird shit. He told her he would taste it soon enough, and then walked out.
She was so afraid to leave the stall, she missed check-in and got herself thrown in a “time-out room” for 24 hours. All alone, locked inside a dark room no bigger than a closet, she sat curled up in the corner, shaking, fearful that at any moment the fat guard was going to open the door and make good on his promise.
He didn’t.
At least not then.
But about two weeks later, he again followed her into that same bathroom. She was alone, sitting in the stall. When the clack of his boots echoed against the tile floor, an icy fear chilled her spine. She tried to hide by pulling her feet up onto the toilet. It didn’t work.
He rattled the door, but of course she’d locked it.
In a quiet voice, he told her to open it or she would be sorry.
She continued to ignore him.
Suddenly, his face appeared underneath the stall door, complete with a hungry-looking grin. He even licked his lips in sick anticipation of what was to come.
“I’m going to get what I want,” he said. “One way or another. For your sake, you might as well make it easy.”
She started to cry and he laughed.
“Open the door, you little bitch.” His face snarled. “If I have to pull myself under, I’m going to make you feel so much pain, you’ll never walk straight again.”
Cristina knew he wouldn’t be able to make it under the door. He had to have weighed at least 300 pounds. But she was so afraid. With a quivering hand, she unlatched the lock and let him in.
He forced her to sit on the toilet while he stuck his pudgy lips in between her legs, smacking them like he was eating his favorite burger. Then he made her give him a blowjob, laughing when she gagged and finally vomited into the toilet.
Every time he saw her after that, if no one was paying attention, he quietly mimicked her retching.
“Well, do you?” Jack repeated his question for the second time.
“What?” Cristina responded, coming back from the memory. “Do I what? I’m sorry, I guess I’m a little out of it. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Quite alright. I asked if you want to know more about the history of the quarry. We’ll be coming up on it in just a moment.”
On cue, they came to the gated opening of a concrete wall. A thicket of red manzanita and other bushes had done a good job reclaiming the terrain, reducing what was once a vehicle road to a path now wide enough only for people.
The gate was rusted open. On the wall next to it, a black metal sign with worn-out white letters remained attached to the concrete, barely visible from under the dense growth.
Perkins & Co. Quarry and Cement Company
Underneath was a smaller white sign with red letters.
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
“Don’t worry about that,” Jack said, sounding like he was getting ready to make one of his speeches. “It’s all public land now.” He pointed at the black sign. “That guy Perkins owns all kinds of stuff, but mostly mining and oil interests around California and elsewhere. He came to town in the sixties as a young man, looking to spend a rather large inheritance. Before that, the only thing in Pleasure Point was a few cheap motels near the beach and a couple of hamburger stands. Perkins opened the concrete plant and made this whole area boom. That is, until the bastard and his partners decided to up and move the whole operation.”
They passed through the gate. The path widened into something that looked more like a proper dirt road. After about a quarter mile, they came to the quarry itself.
Cristina could still see where a vehicle path spiraled down the giant hole in the ground, ending at a pool of surprisingly clear-looking water.
“People swim in it,” Jack told her. “I just wish they’d pick up after themselves.”
The ground was littered with trash. Mostly empty beer bottles, cans, and boxes. But plenty of other stuff, too. Styrofoam fast-food containers. Cigarette butts. More used condoms than Cristina cared to count.
“People are so disgusting,” she said.
“Never have truer words been spoken.”
Jack kicked a few pieces of debris, looking like he wanted to pick them up, while at the same time realizing the effort would be useless. He instead squatted, forearms resting on his knees.
He said, “Everywhere you go on this entire planet, you’ll find this kind of crap. Trash, everywhere. It’s like humans as a species just can’t get our heads out of our collective backends long enough to realize we actually need to take care of the world around us. It’s sad.”
He pondered that for a few moments, continuing to survey the area.
The longer they stood there, the more the quarry took on an ominous feel. Cristina’s mind drifted back to the articles. There were so many things about it all that didn’t make sense. The least of which was why the stepfather would do something so horrible in the first place. She supposed he could have been plain crazy, but somehow that didn’t seem to fit. And why bury the body here in the quarry? And how come no one found it earlier?
Running her hand along a square of quarried limestone, she tried to imagine what had happened. Was poor Annie afraid when her life ended? Did her stepfather hurt her? Torture her? Do things to her? Or did he make it quick?
Cristina thought Jack might be able to shed some light on what had happened, but she was afraid to ask. The last thing she wanted to do was traumatize her poor neighbor any more than he’d likely already been.
“As I was saying,” Jack said, gathering himself back into teaching mode. “Perkins and his developer buddies sold the plant and the quarry, but before that it was the lifeblood of Pleasure Point. Anyhow, I told you about most of this I think, right?”
“Yah, you basically said that the plant closing really hurt the area, and that afterward a lot of drugs started coming in. Which reminds me, I wanted to ask you about something. When I drove into town the other day, I took a wrong turn and ended up in this really creepy area. It was like totally abandoned.”
“Perkins Town.”
“What?”
“Perkins Town. That’s what we call it.” He waved his arms to indicate the quarry. “As in Perkins, the man himself. He built that housing for the original workers of the concrete factory. And for three generations, many of the people who mined this quarry and worked in the factory lived there.”
“I see,” Cristina said, remembering the men she saw. Their haunting black eyes. “And now?”
“Now it’s a genuine slum. The only people who ever go there are the homeless, and people trying to score dope.”
Jack pulled back his wandering stare and looked at her seriously.
He added, “I wouldn’t go there again if I were you. That place is dang
erous. The people who frequent it have no reason to live, and no reason to care about anyone but themselves.”
Cristina didn’t have much to say. She had no plans to spend any more time in that place.
Jack added, “I’m sorry. I sound like I’m trying to be your father or something. Let’s keep walking, shall we? Sometimes this place gives me the willies, especially after what happened to poor Annie.”
He turned quickly and began walking toward another footpath. Cristina again felt driven to ask him about the little girl, but still couldn’t find a way to do it.
Oh hey, can you tell me all about the time your next-door neighbor killed his stepdaughter and buried her here?
Yet, the more she thought about the events, the harder it was to shake the feeling there was something important left out of the newspaper clippings. Something she needed to know if she was ever going to have any peace of mind living in her new house.
“Jack?” she asked timidly.
“Yes.” His voice sounded distant, as if he knew what was coming and hoped that it wasn’t.
“Would you be willing to tell me more about what happened at my house? With Annie, I mean.” After a moment of silence, she added, “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it. But if you feel like you can, I’d really like to hear what you have to say.”
He was quiet for long enough that she thought he might not speak at all. She started to wish she hadn’t said anything.
Probably the worst thing he’s ever been through, Cristina, and you feel the need to bring it up out of the blue, ruining a perfect hike and a perfect day. Nice work, girl.
“Sure,” he said suddenly. “Sure. What do you know?”
“Well, only what I read in the newspaper articles the real estate agent gave me.”
“Hmm . . . unfortunately, you probably know about the same as the rest of us. Honestly, there isn’t all that much more to tell. I wish there was. I knew them, but not well. Not really. I do know that Annie was a lovely, lovely little girl. And Amanda seemed to be a great mom.” He smiled fondly. “You should have seen the two together, Cristina. It was a thing of beauty, watching them walk hand-in-hand together. Not unlike you and Anise, I’d say.” His smile faded. “Even Tom, that sick son-of-a-bitch, was, from everything I ever witnessed, a good guy. He always showed so much love for his stepdaughter. Everyone who knew them was shocked by what happened. Just devastated. Me included.”
“So there really was no sign that something like that was going to happen? No abuse? Fights? Nothing? It all just seems so strange to me.”
“There was nothing. They were what most people would describe as a perfect, happy family. I suppose everyone has their issues. But I certainly never saw anything that would’ve even hinted at what was to come.” He paused thoughtfully. “You know, as happy as I was to see him kick the bucket, I do wish they could have put Tom under the hot lights and interrogated him. Figured out why he did it. The rumor was, at the time, it had something to do with that drug cult I was telling you about your first night here. I think maybe he was wrapped up in it somehow. But, of course, it’s hard to tell where facts end and town gossip begins. Not that knowing would bring back her sweet, innocent face.”
He turned away from her. When he looked back, his eyes were dry, but she could see that talking about the subject had choked him up.
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
“Don’t be. If I were in your shoes, I’d want to know, too. I just wish there was more I could tell you.”
They kept walking, staying silent for a long time, the only sound the coastal breeze blowing through the trees.
Jack stared down the path, lost in thought.
The beautiful day seemed a little less so after such a heavy topic. Cristina tried to think of a way to lighten the mood.
“I’m definitely excited about my date this Thursday,” she said finally.
“With Mr. Dreamy?” Jack turned to her and smiled, though it obviously took some effort.
“Yep. I’m sure I’m setting myself up for a big disappointment. But hey, what can you do?”
Jack didn’t answer. He only shrugged and kept walking.
Another long stretch of silence.
Cristina kept expecting to eventually reach some peak in the trail, complete with a great scenic view like the one she saw driving into town. But it never came. At some point, one she failed to recognize, they simply began to trek downhill, back toward the coast.
About half a mile from the sea, the path broke from under the trees, cutting through a field of wild grass and other vegetation that grew from hard-packed dirt. Deep ridges had been dug into the trail by rainwater on its way back to the ocean.
The closer they came to the shoreline, the louder and deeper the waves boomed. The sound echoed as the path took them into a small, sandy canyon.
Jack removed his shoes and socks. Cristina followed his lead, listening as she did to the increasing intensity of the waves.
“I can’t believe how much bigger they are down here than at the beach by the amusement park,” she said in a voice that was close to shouting.
“Yes,” Jack responded calmly. “It’s the south swell I was telling you about. I think we should hurry along. The tide’s coming up. We should have plenty of time, but if we’re not careful, the water could come up on us.” He saw her wince a bit. “Don’t worry. I’ve been through here a million times. We’ll be alright. Let’s go.”
They exited the canyon, coming out on a small ridge overlooking the ocean. To the right, Cristina saw a gentle stretch of beach covered in driftwood and golden sand.
Jack pointed and said, “That’s the naked hippy beach I was telling you about.” He strained his eyes. “In fact, I think the little human-shaped dot you can just barely make out in the distance is my friend Cassie. She and her girlfriend have a house about a mile down that way.” He swung an arm in the other direction. “And that’s where we need to go.”
The path to their left looked as ominous as the sandy beach looked inviting. Over many thousands of years, the water had carved a trough-like canal through the rock, big enough for a person to walk in. The path was flanked on one side by a fifty-foot cliff pocked with dark caves, and on the other by a natural outcropping rising out from the sea. This wall of rock shielded the path, turning it into a bunker against the constant onslaught of waves.
But Cristina could easily see how, once the tide rose to a certain height, there would be no stopping the water. The entire path would be flooded and washed out, along with anything or anyone stupid enough to be there at the time.
She felt motivated to hurry. With a sense of purpose, she slid her socks and shoes back on. Following Jack, she gingerly took her first steps across the uneven rock.
The only obvious sign of life around them was a flock of seagulls perched on the cliffs above. They seemed to be watching. Everything else appeared barren at first. But as they made their way along, Cristina noticed more than a few crabs and other creatures scurrying away. She couldn’t help but think they knew what was coming and were making for higher ground.
She and Jack didn’t speak as they moved forward. The unbalanced terrain forced concentration with every step. Progress was painfully slow.
When they’d made it about halfway, Jack said he wanted to show her something. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up onto a flat outcropping that extended into the sea like a mushroom-shaped platform.
“This is my favorite place in the entire world,” he said.
Away from the protection of the path, they were now face-to-face with the full fury of the sea. The rocks shook every fifteen seconds or so from the force of another wave. Jack hardly seemed to notice as he bent over and poked around in a tide pool. He was almost giddy, splashing around like a little kid.
Cristina bent down and offered a distracted glance at a bright sea anemone as it grasped onto a snail Jack had set into its sticky tentacles.
She hoped they were going to be on their w
ay soon, and said as much after a particularly large breaker sent a surge of water over the rocks and down the back of her shirt.
“Oh, OK,” Jack said, sounding disappointed. “I could play here for hours though. It makes me feel young again.”
Back in the canal, Cristina tried to ignore the way the intensity of the waves kept increasing. And the growing size of the salty spray.
The seaweed and algae covered rocks were getting slick.
Water soaked Cristina’s shoes and socks, almost knocking her off-balance in the process. She regained her footing, but a sense of panic washed over her as she stumbled forward.
Jack continued moving with calm ease, now a good distance ahead.
Feeling the need to catch up, Cristina put less concentration into finding perfect footholds, increasing her pace, but making each step a little less stable.
Finally, she was only about twenty feet from the safety of a set of wooden stairs built into the cliffside.
Jack had already begun his ascent.
She managed to make short work of the final stretch. As she skipped from rock to rock, closing the last bit of distance between herself and the stairs, another powerful wave hit. Its deep boom rolled like thunder, shaking the rock beneath her. Water shot high into the air and then rained down, hitting her with a jarring force, drenching her entire body.
She was relieved to still be standing.
The bottom of the stairs was only a single step away now. As she plunged her front foot forward, the back one slipped on a patch of algae, sliding out from under her.
She yelped.
The rocks below rushed upward. Luckily, she managed to bring her hands up before she bashed the side of her head against them.
She tried to reach her feet.
Jack was yelling at her, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying.
By the time she realized he was telling her to hurry, the next wave hit. It covered her in water cold enough to suck the air from her chest.