Yesterday's Gone: Season One

time I think she’s right.”
    “I’m sorry,” Desmond said, not seeming to know what else to say. So he improved the subject without changing it. “I believe you about hearing Paola’s thoughts if it makes you feel any better. Makes perfect sense. Other species communicate with one another through psychic transmission . Makes sense that we would to. It’s no different than instinct. I imagine we must have relied on something like that in earlier incarnations of our species. Before the Internet, before TV, before radio, hell, before the written word.”
    It was Desmond’s turn to look at Mary. Mary suddenly turned her attention from Desmond to a tire depot on the next corner across the street and pointed.  
    “She’s down that way.”  
    Down that way was a narrow road that dipped below a billboard advertising: MAC - DADDY’S –– > “The BIGGEST Burgers In TOWN!!”  
    They walked faster and Desmond continued. “Let’s say brain waves left a signature? Who would know how to recognize and read Paola’s signature better than you?”
    A cold shock rattled inside Mary.  
    Ryan .  
    Suddenly she was certain that he did have something to do with this. The feeling was as strong as the others which led her this far. He was the only person, or thing, who could’ve possibly pulled Paola from the hotel. As certain as she felt, though, something was off.  
    No, it wasn’t Ryan, but rather the thought of him.  
    Or a dream.  
    And then she remembered the dreams that Paola had of her dad, frequent ones she’d had since she was in preschool. Then Mary remembered one time when Paola was six, and Mary couldn’t find her anywhere in the house. Just as she was in full freakout mode, Paola came out of the closet yawning. Asking what was wrong. She had sleepwalked in one of her hiding dreams.
    Maybe she had done the same thing again. But out here, so far from home, there was no telling where she might be. Or what might find her if they didn’t.
    “Shit, Desmond. I’m scared.” Mary’s voice wound its way to a higher note.  
    “It’s okay.” Desmond took her hand, walked beneath the billboard and onto McFadden, a narrow road of cracked concrete with a trail of sprouts leading to a small service station.  
    Mary tried to swallow her whimper but it fell out anyway.  
    And then a horrible thought came into her head.
    She’s in pain. Terrible, terrible pain. And Ryan was there. He did this to her. Now she’s on the concrete — cold, alone, stripped of memory, and dying.
    Mary pointed to the gas station and her heart sank into her gut. “She’s there!”  
    Desmond squeezed her hand and pulled her across the street, running.  
    Paola lay on the ground, under flickering canopy lights cutting through the morning fog. She looked mostly dead. Mary lost herself in a primal cry, fell to her knees and cradled Paola holding her close to her chest. Her daughter looked like a corpse, white as a sheet and altogether hollow. Paola felt the girl’s neck, and for a moment, couldn’t feel a pulse.
    No! No, no, no.
    She moved her fingers around, desperately searching for movement. And finally, it came, and Mary closed her eyes, thanking God.
    Paola’s arms moved, twitched, like that creature on the side of the road and the one she left with a crumbling face just 20 minutes before on the third floor of the Drury Inn.  
    Desmond kneeled, cupped Mary’s chin, and pulled her eyes toward him. “We’ve got this, okay. Everything will be fine, but we have to go right now.”  
    Mary nodded.  
    Desmond tried two locked cars at the pumps before hitting a jackpot with the third parked behind the station. He was in the driver’s seat for three minutes before whatever he was doing got the engine to turn. He pulled the car beside them, stepped from the car, opened the back door, kneeled down, scooped Paola’s withered body into his arms and placed her gingerly into the back seat.  
    “We’re going to the Drury now. Everything will be fine.”
    Mary got in the back seat with Paola and placed her daughter’s head in her lap.  
    “Everything will be okay,” he repeated.  
    Mary echoed her vacant nod as she felt her world circling the drain. If Paola died, Mary would follow her into the darkness.

    * * * *

EDWARD KEENAN

    Cape Hope was named in irony, at least the way Ed saw it.
    The coastal community had seen better days, probably by at least a couple of decades, judging from the aged infrastructure, beaten