BURIED

THREE

B E L L E

I remember hating the long walk up the endless stairway of my dormitory; it was excruciating.

She'd be standing right there, holding a box. It was always books, tea leaves, and spices. The faint smell of cinnamon and mint always filled the air; that's how I knew she was there. Sometimes she had the wool scarf wrapped around her neck, sometimes on her head. It made her look funny.

I never understood why it still felt unbelievable. I expected myself to believe the truth, not deny it.

I'm logical; I've always been.

Illogical people are the ones who end up dead, kidnapped, or overdosing on fentanyl. I'm being fucking serious.

This time I was not walking down the stairs to meet her; I was walking down from Yuna Park's dorm. Her roommate was too high to be questioned; the room reeked of weed and dirty clothes. The other side, which I suspected to be Yuna's, was decorated with k-pop stickers and whatnot.

"When's the last time you've seen Yuna?" I questioned the roommate.

She was standing in front of me but fell back onto her bed before speaking. "Last niiiii---ght."

"She was reported missing two days ago."

"She's not misssssing, Yuna is fine-eee," the girl continued, obviously high. "So fuck off, old lady."

"Excuse me," I wanted to argue, but it was no use. I'd come back. FYI, I am not old.

Though the girl was not being helpful, I got myself a bag full of Yuna's stuff; she seemed to love cooking. She had a journal full of recipes.

I drove off campus; I was taking a shortcut back to my apartment as it was getting late. I was going to make myself dinner and watch something today. I'm not a full-blown vegetarian, but meat disgusts me, and I'm probably lactose intolerant, but I love seafood. I have a very sophisticated palate.

I was downtown when my car stopped. The weather was still damp, so I suspected maybe some liquid was where it shouldn't be, 'cause my car was obviously older than I am.

"Oh shit!" I had hit the car alarm with the heels of my palms, so it came blaring, scaring the pigeons on the sidewalk.

The place was half-empty, except for the open antique store and bookstore a few feet away from where my car stopped. Pulling my phone out, I tried calling Terrance. He shouldn't be far; he lived right off the street. But I'd walk there; I didn't know what to do with the car.

"What's up?" he spoke in a huff as soon as he answered. "Everything alright?"

"My car stopped," I started. I explained everything that happened; he was quiet for a second, then answered, his voice distant.

"I'm not home right now, but you can still go stay there till I come back," he said. "It's getting late, and downtown isn't safe."

"What about my car?"

"You can leave it there; give the keys to the antique man," he explained. He didn't wait for me to speak; he ended the call immediately after finishing his sentence.

What a day.

I handed the antique man the keys and showed him the car, taking everything I needed from it before locking it.

My shoes were already wet, and the small droplets falling were slowly soaking me. The building where Terrance lived was right ahead. But the streets were now completely empty except for the faint music coming from one of the shops.