Badlands (Hqn)

by Jill Sorenson

  Her heart clenched inside her chest, like water being wrung from wet cloth. “I’m going with Owen.”

  His little mouth trembled. “I want to stay with you.”

  Now that she was well hydrated, the tears didn’t build slowly. They gushed into her eyes and spilled over as she hugged him tight. “I know you do. But try to be a big boy, for Mommy. I’ll be home soon.” She choked out the last words. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  She didn’t want to let him go, but she was afraid he’d pick up on her anxiety and make a scene if she held on too long. As soon as she released him, Cruz ran into the kitchen and flung his arms around Owen.

  “I’ll protect her,” Owen said. “Don’t worry.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “Yes.”

  Penny bent down to kiss her son’s cheek. “Go watch TV until Owen’s mother gets here,” she said, ruffling his hair.

  Cruz obeyed with reluctance.

  Shane poured coffee over ice and used the phone to call his mother. Apparently, she was already on her way home.

  They went into the garage to examine the condition of an old fishing boat. Penny stood by the Jeep, sniffling, while the brothers discussed which set of tools to bring. Shane grabbed a large bucket and tossed a garden hose into it, among other things. Owen climbed into the backseat and Penny took the front. Shane hitched up the boat trailer. Then they were riding down a lonely road. She felt hollow to the core, having left her baby—her heart and soul, her reason for living—alone in a trailer in Salton City.

  Owen held her hand, stroking her fingers to comfort her. Shane noticed this and grunted, lighting another cigarette. He was drinking iced coffee now instead of booze, but she didn’t trust his driving.

  “You think Mom will call the cops?” Shane asked.

  “She might.”

  He drove for about an hour, brooding in silence. When Penny’s tears dried up, she acknowledged that Cruz was in a much better situation. Her son would get home safe, whether Sally contacted the police or not. But Penny couldn’t take a deep breath until she knew for sure. Concern for him weighed heavily on her chest.

  Although they passed by the Salton Sea, she couldn’t see it. The shore was on the driver’s side and only visible at brief intervals. She didn’t want to crane her neck toward Shane to catch a glimpse. She could smell it, however. The odor reminded her of the salted cod available in Mexican markets, mixed with the unpleasant stench of a Baja fish factory.

  Soon they reached another small town. Shane pulled over at a deserted campground and parked in the day-use area. He turned off the engine, tossing Owen the handcuff keys. “Lock her to the wheel.”

  Owen removed the cuffs and attached one of her wrists to the wheel, giving her an apologetic look. Then he pocketed the keys and got out.

  She understood Shane’s strategy. It was the same one he’d used with her and Cruz. Owen wouldn’t leave her, so Shane didn’t have to worry about him running away. Owen might make a grab for the gun if he got the chance, so Shane wisely kept his distance. He wasn’t as stupid as she’d figured.

  Shane sat down on a picnic table under a shade structure while Owen got to work. He filled up a bucket with water from a spigot and stuck the propeller into it. After tinkering with the engine for a while, adding fuel and oil and spraying some gunk on the parts, he cranked the ignition cord. It turned over.

  Shane grinned around the butt of his cigarette, pleased. “I knew you could do it.”

  Owen’s expression was more difficult to read. Penny couldn’t tell if he felt pride or shame or resignation. He seemed to bask in his brother’s praise and resent it at the same time. “Now what?”

  Shane checked the time on his phone. “It’s almost four, too late to do the exchange. We’ll hide the boat somewhere and find a motel in Bombay.”

  Owen dumped out the bucket and gathered their supplies, placing them in the backseat.

  “Lock your wrist to hers,” Shane ordered.

  He used the keys to remove the cuff from the steering wheel and snapped it on his wrist, attaching his right hand to her left. It was an uncomfortable arrangement. He had to extend his arm from the backseat and she was forced to keep hers bent.

  Shane hopped behind the wheel, his mood punchy. As they left the campground, he glanced at Penny. He’d seen her before, but he’d never really looked at her. “Why did you say your son was Owen’s?”

  “You had a gun to my head,” she said stiffly.

  “Are you sleeping with him?”

  She flushed with anger, refusing to answer.

  “Lay off,” Owen said.

  “Who’s the real dad?” Shane persisted.

  “Some jerk,” she shot back.

  “That kid likes you,” Shane said to Owen. “What’s the harm in telling him you’re the father?”

  “How would you feel if Janelle did that with Jamie?”

  He mulled it over. “Maybe he’d be better off thinking I was someone else.”

  “Too late,” Owen said.

  Shane dropped the subject. He didn’t seem upset, just contemplative, as if his feelings were buried so deep, he couldn’t access them. After a few minutes, he reached into his pocket for a cell phone. “Tell your dad to bring the money to the Texaco gas station in Brawley at 10:00 a.m. He has to come alone, with his phone. Repeat that back to me.”

  Penny did.

  He handed her his cell. “Remember to speak English. This is America, even if it looks like Mexico.”

  “Mexico is part of America.”

  “What?”

  “Mexico is in North America, along with Canada and the United States.”

  “Just make the call, smart-ass.”

  She dialed the number, her heart pounding. About three hours had passed since she’d left Cruz in Salton City. He probably hadn’t arrived in L.A. yet.

  “This is Jorge Sandoval.”

  “Daddy,” she choked, instantly emotional.

  “Gracias a Dios,” he said. “Where are you?”

  She gave him the instructions, word for word.

  “I’ll be there,” he promised. “A cabdriver just called me from the airport. Cruz is coming home.”

  Shane grabbed the phone and hung up before she could respond, but it didn’t matter. She let out a strangled sob. Her baby was safe.

  “He said he’d heard from a cabdriver,” she told Owen. “Cruz is on the way.”

  Owen squeezed her hand, sharing the moment with her. His eyes gleamed with tears. Although Penny desperately wanted to be reunited with her son, it was a huge relief to know he was okay.

  Maybe this would all work out. Her father would bring the money, and she’d be back in L.A. with Cruz tomorrow afternoon.

  Shane seemed annoyed by their display of affection. Obviously, a happy ending wasn’t in the cards for him. Penny could identify him by name. Even if he pulled off the exchange and paid his debt, he couldn’t just walk away. He’d spend the rest of his life on the run or in prison...assuming he lived.

  She looked away, refusing to feel sorry for a man who’d threatened to cut out her tongue and search her body cavities. He’d arranged for Owen to be beaten and almost allowed Dirk to kill him. Shane had made his bed; now he could die in it.

  They traveled around the southernmost tip of the Salton Sea and headed north. Again, the shore was on the driver’s side, and miles in the distance. By the time she spotted a sign that read Bombay Beach, it was early evening. As Shane turned left and drove toward the sea, she straightened in her seat, eager to get a better view.

  It wasn’t what she expected.

  Bombay Beach was a small community of aluminum trailers and ramshackle dwellings. Despite its name, she saw no Indian influence. If anything, there was a Dutch theme in the sprinkling of pointed roofs and windmills. Many of the houses appeared empty, their windows boarded, surfaces scrawled with graffiti. Others were occupied, judging by the dusty vehicles parked outside. She saw sever
al golf carts milling around.

  “Is there a golf course nearby?” she asked.

  Shane laughed at the question. “There’s nothing out here.”

  “They use electric carts because the gas station is so far away,” Owen said.

  “Why is it called Bombay?”

  “You tell us, Miss Geography.”

  She had no answer, being only vaguely familiar with India. They continued over a man-made barrier that separated the town from an even more devastated area by the shore. It looked like a postapocalyptic junkyard. Abandoned structures and vehicles, some half-buried in sand, littered the landscape. Boats, buses, trailers, furniture—everything had been ravaged by the elements and left to rot.

  “This part of town floods during the rainy season,” Owen explained. “It used to be the resort area.”

  Beyond the graveyard of sunken refuse was the sea. She finally got a full picture of the awe-inspiring expanse. It stretched many miles in every direction. At sunset, golden light gleamed across its flat surface, beckoning swimmers to take a dip—if they could ignore the reek of dead fish and other signs of decay. Murky puddles surrounded the debris, glimmering with colors not seen in nature, and thick with floating algae.

  There was something beautiful and horrible about the sight. Never had she witnessed such a devastating display of neglect. The largest body of water in California, sitting in the middle of the desert, gone to waste.

  Shane parked the Jeep next to the remains of an old yacht club. He backed the trailer into a space between two crumbling concrete walls, close to the shore. Hopping out, he unhitched it, leaving the boat hidden amongst the rubble.

  She wasn’t sure why he’d bothered, but his plans were a mystery to her. Maybe the boat was his getaway vehicle.

  From there, he drove back into the main part of town and stopped at what appeared to be a deserted motel. Apparently it was open for business. Shane turned off the engine and got out, preparing to rent a room.

  “Stay cool,” he warned Owen. “I don’t want to have to shoot this guy.”

  She watched him go inside, her stomach roiling. “You think he’d do it?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “What about us? Are we safe with him?”

  A muscle in Owen’s jaw flexed. “He can’t collect the ransom if he hurts you.”

  Owen didn’t say he would escape Shane’s wrath. Brother or no, Owen was still dispensable. Shane didn’t care about him. He only cared about the money. If the exchange went wrong, they’d both be dispensable.

  Bombay Beach, although sparsely populated, was the kind of place where people looked the other way. Its residents seemed downtrodden and tight-lipped. The faces they’d passed were weathered from sun and age. They’d find no saviors here. Shane could probably drive down the middle of town, shooting his gun in the air, and no one would call the police.

  He came out of the office with a key. She doubted he’d had to show ID to get it. He moved the Jeep and parked in front of the hotel room. Exiting the vehicle, he gestured for Owen and Penny to follow. He unlocked the hotel room for them.

  The dilapidated interior came as no surprise. A double bed sat in the corner, next to a lamp without a shade. The orange-striped wallpaper hurt her eyes. There was a battered-looking desk with a lumpy armchair.

  After a cursory inspection of the bathroom, Shane directed them inside. Penny shuffled forward with Owen, noting that the fixtures were outdated but clean. There was a shower stall, a toilet and a sink. No window to escape through.

  Shane grabbed the plastic bag of clothes from the Jeep. After he rifled through the contents, he tossed the bag in the tub. Then he retrieved a few pillows and blankets from the bed. He came back and dumped them on the bathroom floor.

  “Nighty-night,” he said.

  “Are you going to unlock the cuffs?” Owen asked.

  “No,” Shane said with a smirk. “I’m going to barricade this door, crank up the TV and get drunk. You two have fun.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  OWEN STAYED QUIET, listening to Shane move furniture around the room.

  It sounded as if he’d upended the desk and leaned its corner against the bathroom door, balancing there. Owen didn’t want to open the door and get crushed to test the theory. It didn’t lock from the inside.

  A few seconds later, the television turned on at high volume. There was no one in the motel to complain.

  He turned to Penny, apologetic.

  She seemed annoyed by their entrapment, but not horrified. The air-conditioning whirred into action, sending cool blasts through the vent. Penny sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and used her free hand to search the bag of clothes. He took a seat across from her, on the edge of the tub.

  “Look what I have,” she said. “Toothpaste!”

  He smiled at her enthusiasm. “Any deodorant?”

  “No. There’s a toothbrush, a little bottle of shampoo and a square of soap.” After setting those items on the sink, she removed a box of bandage strips and a tube of antibiotic ointment. “These will come in handy.”

  “What else?”

  She pulled out an old checkered dress. “These are for you,” she said, passing him a bundle of cotton briefs and athletic socks.

  He accepted the hand-me-downs, frowning.

  “Your dad’s?”

  “Yes.”

  She cocked her head to one side, her hair a tangled curtain. “Tell me something good about him.”

  “I already did.”

  “You only have one positive memory?”

  He shrugged, looking away. Talking about his father made him uncomfortable. Even his pleasant childhood experiences were tainted by dysfunction. Decent people came from decent families, like hers.

  “Surely he had his finer points.”

  “He was loyal,” Owen said finally. “He didn’t cheat on my mother.”

  “That’s nice,” she said, her mouth softening.

  “He cheated everyone but her.”

  She laughed, as if this was a joke. “Maybe you’ll take after him and be faithful to one woman forever.”

  Owen nodded. It was the only way he’d follow his father’s footsteps.

  “Kids from lasting marriages tend to have those kinds of relationships themselves. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  She waited for a moment, seeming to expect more from the conversation. He realized he was giving his usual monosyllable answers and “sharing very little.” In his defense, the topic was unpleasant. His parents had loved each other, or thought they’d loved each other. But they hadn’t stayed together for the right reasons.

  The situation was awkward, as well. He and Penny were alone together in a tiny bathroom, without Shane’s interference or Cruz acting as a buffer between them. There was no way for him to maintain a polite distance.

  “I wish he hadn’t been faithful,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  “Why?”

  “If he’d been a horrible person all of the time, instead of most of the time, maybe she could have found the strength to leave him.”

  “It’s not about strength.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Mental health, usually. And self-confidence, which gets chipped away little by little, year by year.”

  He recognized the truth in this. His mother had suffered long periods of depression, catatonic states. She blamed herself for everything. She would instigate arguments with his father, as if the anticipation of violence was more unbearable than the abuse itself. “I haven’t been a good son to her.”

  “Why?”

  “I couldn’t help her, so I...retreated.”

  “Maybe she needed to help herself.”

  “Maybe she did,” he said, considering the possibility. His mother had taken steps to get sober on her own. She hadn’t been able to do it until his father was out of the picture, but Owen was still proud of her.

  “I’ve felt the same way,” she said. “Like I hav
en’t been a good daughter.”

  “Why?”

  “My parents were crushed when they found out I was pregnant. They wanted me to go to college and be somebody important.”

  “You did go to college. And you are somebody.”

  “I’m not the person they hoped I’d be. I don’t share their religious beliefs or fit in with their social circle. I’m a disappointment.”

  “No. They’re not disappointed.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I saw it in their faces at your graduation.”

  “They love me and Cruz,” she said, conceding his point. “And I appreciate their support, but it comes at a cost. They expect me to attend political events and date upstanding young men from the country club. I want to make my own decisions and be with whoever I like.”

  Him. She meant him. Pleasure tingled over his skin, along with a healthy dose of unease. There were no more walls between them, no contracts to hide behind. He didn’t know how he was going to keep his hands off her. He was handcuffed to her.

  “I think I’ll shower.”

  Oh, God.

  “I’m hideous,” she said, touching her tangled hair. “I can’t even look at myself in the mirror.”

  He studied her for signs of imperfection. She had streaks of dirt on her face and knots in her hair, but she was still gorgeous. Her knees were scraped, which concerned him. While he watched, she took off one of the boots she was wearing, wincing in pain.

  “Let me,” he said, grasping her ankle. He used his right hand unconsciously, which jerked her left hand along for the ride.

  “We’re going to have to coordinate movements.”

  Lifting her foot to his thigh, he peeled away the black dress sock. She had several blisters, flattened and raw. He removed the other boot and sock, finding her left foot in the same condition. “You need Band-Aids.”

  “After I shower.”

  “Maybe you should take a bath,” he said. A shower would be torture. He’d have to stand outside the beveled glass door with his wrist connected to hers, watching water stream down her naked body. “You can soak your muscles.”

  “That sounds heavenly, actually.”