What Lies Beneath

Twenty-Three

Drizzles of rain fused into the wind howling around us as Christian put the car into park a few feet into the junkyard. He removed his key from the ignition and jumped out, slamming his door shut behind him. I pulled my hoodie over my head and followed in pursuit.

If there was someone working a shift in the junkyard tonight, they didn't seem to be anywhere near us. There must have been cameras around though. Hopefully, Christian wouldn't get in trouble for searching the place without a warrant. It wasn't like he was here to take anything anyways, or question anyone. We were simply here to look around in an area open to the public.

"Okay now, what kind of truck are we looking for?" asked Christian.

"An all-black Ford truck with a Pennsylvania license plate," I said.

"With a Pennsylvania license plate? Tyler, are you sure you know what you're doing?" He pulled out a mini flashlight from the slip of his belt. Then he turned it on, waving it left and right, to get a clear look at the license plates of each car we passed so far. I copied him by whipping out my phone and turning the flashlight option on.

"I know what I'm talking about, okay? Just trust me. We should go our separate ways to cover more ground," I suggested.

"No, there's no way I'm not letting you go anywhere by yourself," he refused.

"But—" He shot me a look that told me there was no room for argument. And since it didn't seem like I was going to find a way to win, I saved myself from trying. We were on borrowed time that we couldn't afford to waste.

"Can we at least separate a safe distance from each other? I mean, that way we're not looking in the same spots." I allowed my eyes to do the talking for me in hopes he'd accept. Finally, he grunted but gestured to the left with his head.

"You look over there. I'll look on the right. But don't go any further, understood?"

I said, "Understood."

Everything that appeared to be on the left side of the junkyard ranged from old rusty scrap metal, to broken glass that'd been scattered across the dried soil, to faded tire trails, and missing pieces from a few of the totaled cars around us. I shined my phone over each license plate while strolling. Damn, a good chunk of the cars didn't even have license plates.

"Do you see anything yet?" I yelled to wherever Christian was.

"Nothing!" he yelled back.

With a sigh, I rested my hand over one of the dust covered car hoods. It was a small long forgotten convertible; with deteriorating red paint, both cracked side-view mirrors, and no tires attached. The poor thing was ready to be crushed. My eyes wandered over the middle of the hood where there wasn't a crack before landing on the right side-view mirror.

Nothing but more cars. One of which was covered with a long white sheet. If that didn't scream suspicious, I didn't know what would. It was too big to be a regular old car. But it wasn't the shape of a minivan or anything of the sort. That left me with a few ideas, and of course, I was hoping for a specific one. Upon approaching the car, I kneeled and lifted the edge of the sheet.

"You can keep your petty cash and everything else you own, you deadbeat bastard!" My initial thought when I heard the voice was that I was hearing things. But the two people standing in front of me, who weren't there before, set things in motion for me.

Broad daylight overwhelmed the blue skies above their heads. A man, whose name I didn't know, stood a safe distance away from Iris. The closer I looked, the more I recognized him as Mrs. Carol's husband. He looked just like the picture from Cecilia's bedroom. A dark blue jumpsuit was tied around his waist, accompanied by a pair of dark boots, a pair of safety goggles propped on his forehead, and a thick pair of dark gloves.