The road winds ahead. It wraps around the base of a mountain and dips into the crevices of a canyon. Blackbrush and purple sage dot the terrain. Spindly junipers and Joshua trees scope the road’s edge, resembling a fence guarding the land beyond. The sun is bright enough to cast the sky in a brilliant baby blue. I’m slow around the tight bends to let Conin doze off in the passenger seat. A dollop of drool hangs from his lips. It’s cute, but distracting, so I return my attention to the road. We hit a rough patch, shaking the car, which jostles Conin out of his stupor. My eyes glaze over his waking body.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop that. It’s fine,” I say. “We’re almost there.”
“How’s your foot feeling?” I inquire moments later.
“I’ve had much worse, but you knew that. The brace should help it,” Conin says, grimacing.
Got ya.
The fall was a nasty one. As far as second-story jumps go, the height could’ve been worse, though it was lengthy enough to do some fair damage. His vague answer prompts me not to pry further. I’m not willing to try getting the truth out of Conin when he wishes to keep it to himself.
“Where are you?” I ask, using his words against him.
“I’m here,” he answers. He shuffles and faces the passenger window.
Cheap move.
I push on the accelerator, watching the outskirts of a small mining town grow from a speck into a sign labeledEureka: Population 651.
Then, it hits.
An innominate force pressures my shoulders, pushing down like it wishes to bury me deep in the Earth. It’s a sensation I’ve never experienced before; I grasp for ways to describe it, a feeling so surreal. It binds and tethers me to something unknown, tugging at my heart, pulling, and crushing. I nearly careen to the side of the road.
Conin asks what’s wrong, but my ears are ringing.
In an overwhelming rush, I pull over. The sensation intrudes and permeates my every synapse, but then it feels as if it’s always been there—always a part of me. The force doesn’t exactly hurt, nor is it uncomfortable the longer we idle against the side of the road. What I thought was pain soothes into a steady hum.
What is this?
What’s happening to me?
“Ezra? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Conin berates, but I can’t be bothered.
I wait and hope that the sensation relents. The feeling dwindles more, not so much a hum, than a buzz after several alcoholic drinks, sourced at the back of my head. It’s present,it’s there, but bearable. I’m not sure if I should be terrified or relieved. Maybe both.
“Ez?” Conin says.
I can’t look at him.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know,” I say in earnest. “I think I’m okay now.”
Conin quiets and lets me proceed when I’m ready. On our right is a relatively small brick building with the ugliest blue-stained roof. In bold letters at the front are the wordsTintic High School.The familiar name rings a bell. Several paltry mining cities must be nearby with the name, in the days when Utah mined for silver. I kinda went through a mini ghost-town phase.
Farther down the road, past sheds and warehouses, are the residents’ homes. We pass an elementary school across the street from an LDS church, because of course there’s one out here in the butt crack of nowhere.
“Where should I go?” I ask.
“Well, this should be the place. Maybe that motel over there? We can stay until we figure out what’s going on,” Conin says.
I acquiesce and pull into its vacant lot. It’s a tiny establishment, perhaps five, maybe six rooms in total with a check-in office on the far left. Conin turns to face me when the car shifts into park.
“Are we sure about this?” he second-guesses.
“Do you think Tommy was lying?”
