Yesterday's Gone: Season One

shouldn’t have to explain himself.
    “We need to get you help,” Brent said, eyes meeting Luis’s.
    The rage subsided, as quickly as it came, replaced by fear, regret for what he’d said, and a new, bottomless sorrow. Whatever was inside him was fucking with his emotions big time.
    “You need to go without me,” Luis said. “Something’s happening. And I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He was on the verge of tears.
    “I told you, I’m not leaving you, man. We’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna find our families.”
    Luis smiled, unable to meet Brent’s eyes. “That dream, again?” The smile dissolved to tears as he pictured his daughter’s sweet smile. He thought again of their final day together. So many kids these days seemed to be almost born jaded, yet Gracie was still innocent, loving him with a sincerity and openness that melted the walls he’d so carefully built around his heart... just as her mother had done.
    He swallowed hard, tears stinging his eyes.
    “Do you think she’s still alive?” Luis asked.
    “I do,” Brent said, putting a hand on Luis’s shoulder. “I really do.”
    “Goddamn, you hopeful bastard,” Luis said, trying to manage a smile.
    “And you think the people on the island can help me?”
    “Yes,” Brent said.
    “How do you know, though?” Luis asked, entirely aware he sounded like a scared child, but unable to keep his emotions from riding off the rails.
    “I feel it, just like you all felt your visions of October 15 were real.”
    Fair enough.
    Downstairs, Jane called, “Come on, I think the ferry is about to leave.”
    “Leave?” Brent shouted, “It’s not even close to eight!”
    Luis closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. He wanted to believe Brent. Wanted to have faith. Wanted to take a chance and believe he wasn’t going to become a monster like Joe had. That he might see his little girl again.
    Stranger things had happened.
    He stood.  
    “Okay, let’s go.”

    * * * *

CALLIE THOMPSON

    October 18
     
    Pensacola, Florida
     

    Callie spent much of the day alone after Bob saved her and brought her back “home.”
    She couldn’t tell for certain if he knew that she’d drugged him or not. He was acting weird, telling her he needed time to “think about shit and stuff.” Which was fine by her. She went up to her room and decided to pass time. Without power, though, she didn’t have much to do. So she went to Charlie’s room hoping he’d left behind some books or comics, anything to read, really, other than the business books which made up most of the home’s library.  
    She was disappointed to find that he’d taken the duffel bag which had the good books and graphic novels. She was about to leave the room when she saw a smaller blue duffel bag in the corner. She put the bag on the bed and unzipped it. Inside were a dozen or so spiral notebooks, most of which were well-worn, outsides filled with doodles and sketches of monsters, shapes, and alien landscapes. Charlie was a pretty decent artist.
    She pulled out the top notebook with a green cover. The pages were filled with math problems interspersed with more doodling. The next few notebooks were also filled with schoolwork, though some pages had better drawings. One of them was an ink sketch of a girl sitting at a desk, which he’d obviously drawn during class. The way he’d drawn the girl with such detail, features soft while his other images were rough and unfinished, seemed to indicate a crush on the subject. It was like peeking into the mind of a teenage boy, something she’d never had such open access to.  
    She was somewhat surprised that his drawings were not all pornographic in nature. She imagined most boys who had the talent to draw, would draw all sorts of lurid stuff, both real and imagined.  
    Charlie was a nice kid. Callie smiled.
    She heard Bob downstairs making something in the kitchen. She stuffed Charlie’s notebooks back in the bag, rushed to her room, and shoved the bag under her bed. The thought of Bob catching her looking at the spirals made her stomach turn. No doubt he’d want to check them out and likely have a good old laugh at Charlie’s expense.  
    Callie had known a lot of guys like Bob in school. Insecure, usually jock types, who seemed to thrive on bullying those weaker than them. Different than them. She never understood why so many girls went for such assholes. Then again, girls acted the same way, viciously going after anyone who