The Quest of One

The Road to Paradise

When I reopen my eyes, the light has subsided, and I'm not staring at Detective Murphy or Officer Roberts. Instead, I'm staring up at a cedar ceiling that I know all too well, listening to the growl of an engine that I've complained is in a desperate need of an oil change. How many times have I been in this van, staring up at the ceiling and watching the patterns in the wood blur as I took a drag from a blunt.

We're actually moving, though—the engine is sputtering louder than it usually is.

I try to sit up, but realize I'm not wearing the same clothes I had on earlier. My tank top, shorts and sandals are gone in exchange for a hoodie and jeans, and a pair of high tops. My arms feel sore and squished, pressure building in my forearms. Panic runs through me for a minute, and I start to fear that maybe I was wrong about Wade. The first time I met him, I searched his van while he was out catching a wave, checking his wallet to make sure I didn't find some sort of card that read LIUETENANT EVIL MOG or something. Maybe I should have checked again. The last thing I remember is getting my picture taken—the horror of that memory is overwhelming enough—and now the next thing I know I'm in his van.

He must have picked me up.

But I called Hilde.

I start to think the worst.

Did he intercept the call and pick me up?

Did he drug me?

Is that why I don't remember getting in his van?

I'm too afraid to move now. I know that if I sit up, there's a chance that the person driving this car is a Mogadorian tasked with tricking me into trusting him so he could capture me, drug me, slit my throat and dump my body at the Santa Monica pier.

"You sleep okay?"

I snap my head toward the driver's seat. Hilde's brown eyes stare at me through the rearview mirror. Even more bizarre, in the seat beside her sits Wade, his head cocked at an angle against the window. Asleep.

"Whoa, Hilde? Where the hell are we?"

Passing through Utah. About to be in Colorado."

Utah? Colorado?

"You picked me up from the police station," I ask, "with Wade?"

Wrinkles cut into Hilde's face as she furrows her brow. "Don't you remember what happened?"

"I...stole some records...got caught doing it. They were gonna let me out, but this detective thought the scar was something it wasn't. I think he took a picture of me." I shrug. "That's the last thing I remember."

Wade sits up and rubs his eyes. He turns in his seat to look at me, braids I did for him getting nappy as they fall around his head.

"Hey, Wade," I say as I sit up. We're driving through a white landscape of pines and mountains. "Um..."

"All good?" he asks, trying to keep the worry out of his smile.

"Did I miss something?" I ask. "What are we doing in your van?"

"You asked me to give you guys a ride," he replies, narrowing his eyes. "But, to be honest, your grandma's been doing most of the driving."

"I don't understand. Hil—Grandma, why would we...?"

"Because of the earthquake? Our house got leveled and our car was smashed? We agreed to go to Paradise to talk to a family friend."

I fight to keep my confusion at bay. I don't want it to rise to the surface because I honestly have no idea what's going on and I don't want Hilde to think I'm going crazy. Then again, it's entirely possible that she's suffering from some sort of human illness and somehow dragged Wade into it.