Sponsored Content #2
Eventually, however, the gentle hills give way to towering cliffsides, and as we push deeper and deeper the landscape below is once again obscured.
Noah’s been on his phone looking up tonight’s news and expressing his shock at just how little concrete information there is.
Yes, there are bizarre deaths and disappearances happening across Palm Springs, but Eddie is ruthlessly efficient at cleaning up his mess.
Either there’s no more evidence to be found or the evidence that does show up points folks in some random, confounding direction.
“What are we gonna do once we get the cream?” Noah eventually asks, putting his phone away.
“I haven’t figured that part out just yet.”
Despite my best efforts to plan ahead, I remain uncharacteristically focused on the object itself. Right now, our goal is tangible and singular—a small, plastic container stuffed to the brim with soothing medication and tucked away in Noah’s locker.
It’s hard to think about anything else. All night, Eddie has been an unrelenting force, his physical strength matched only by the uncanny might of his verbal commands.
I’ve seen him shot, bitten, and stabbed, and while a few of these things gave him momentary pause, the efforts to stop Eddie have only made him more ruthless.
Now, however, there might be a way to fight back.
There are no streetlights on the twisting road behind us, no way to see if a giant pink haze is taking shape in the distance, but that doesn’t matter. I know he’s coming, and it’s only a matter of time before we’re face-to-face again.
Granted, both of our faces have changed quite a bit since the start of this evening.
The vast darkness breaks as we round a bend, revealing the luminous glow of the Aerial Tramway Valley Station.
The road is outrageously steep here, opening into a narrow parking lot that fills the entirety of this rocky crevasse.
Massive boulders are strewn about, some of them built into the landscaping in an effort to blend the structure with its natural surroundings.
On the left side, a river runs steadily along, fed by the upper peak’s melting snow and carving its way through the cliffs.
The station itself looms before us. This structure feels very hip-and-modern-parks-department-remodel, despite the hints of brutalist architecture that shine through its cement-block design.
It’s illuminated with the usual upward glow this town adores, plumes of warm yellow dotting the structure’s exterior, but the inside is notably dark.
What minimal indoor lighting there is feels government mandated, a safety precaution to avoid lawsuits.
I skip the parking lot, instead roaring up to the front of the building and coming to a screeching halt. As the three of us climb out of the car, I take Marlo by the hand, letting her know I’m here without exchanging glances. I keep my face straight ahead, thankful to be shrouded in more shadows.
I can’t help wondering if we are making the right move.
Maybe Noah was right. Maybe we should’ve just ditched the car and disappeared into the desert.
The second I think this, however, I shake my head and push the thought away.
Eddie would find us, and he’d find us without a way to fight back. At least we’ll have a chance now.
We hustle up the steps and arrive at the locked front door. Noah extracts a set of keys from his pocket, but he puts them away after noticing someone approaching us through the glass. Noah waves.
There’s a loud metallic pop as the door is unlocked and opened from inside. A large man in a parks department uniform greets Noah with a smile. “What’s going on, buddy? Your shift doesn’t start for like three hours.”
“I just left something in my locker,” Noah explains.
“Come on in,” the security guard offers.
A name tag affixed to his chest reads KENNY HALL.
We shuffle through the door, which Kenny promptly closes and locks behind us. “What’s with the bat?” he asks Noah.
Noah shrugs and casually offers the first non-answer he can think of. “It’s dangerous out there.”
This seems to do the trick. Kenny’s eyes widen a bit. “You all hear about the crazy—” he starts, then abruptly halts when he gets a good look at me. “Jesus Christ!” Kenny blurts. “Are you alright? We have a first aid kit!”
“I’m fine, it was just …” I start, then trail off. I suddenly realize there is absolutely no good explanation for the carnage that’s been laid out across my face.
Thankfully, Kenny seems genuinely more interested in helping me than parsing whatever rationalization I cobble together. He’s already moving away from us, shouting over his shoulder as he hurries toward a back office.
“There’s bandages and some Neosporin over here,” Kenny calls out. “I don’t know if I’ll have enough, though. You should really get to a hospital.”
“Wait!” I shout, stopping Kenny in his tracks. I reach into my pocket and extract one of the nose clips. “Put this on.”
The guard just stares at me awkwardly, not quite sure what to say. “Well … what is it?”
“A swimming clip,” I reply.
A very, very long pause hangs in the air between us. “Why?”
Instead of answering, I jog over and place the clip in Kenny’s hand. “Here,” I say, lowering my voice to a gentle coo and closing his fingers around it. “Please?”
“Uh … thanks,” Kenny says.