The Watcher

JUST LIKE THE WOMAN MINUTES BEFORE, CULEBRA is gone. Not shape-shifted. I'd see a snake. He's disappeared. I'm so shaken, it takes me a few minutes to get up off the bar stool and search the place. He's not in any of the back rooms.

Could he be in the caves?

I wasn't aware that teleportation was one of his talents.

But then, I just saw a human do the same thing, didn't I?

The path from the saloon to the caves stretches like a dusty ribbon in front of me. I've taken it a hundred times. It's the middle of the day. Why does it seem menacing now?

I swallow down the feeling of trepidation and force myself to set off for the caves. It's eerily quiet. No buzzing of insects, no rodents scurrying for cover at my approach. Even the hum of the generator on Culebra's lighting system is silent. When I reach the entrance, I call out.

There's no answer. Not from Culebra. Not from anyone. Because there is no one at all in the caves. Not one shred of evidence to indicate there was ever anyone in the caves.

I find myself tiptoeing from one chamber to the other in inky darkness, panic so close it sits like a specter on my shoulder. Even the medical supplies are gone, the makeshift hospital nothing but a rock-strewn cavern. This place is a refuge for those under Culebra's protection. David was saved here. There are always twenty or so fugitives hiding from human or otherworldly threats. How did Culebra manage to clear everyone out? Where did he send them? Was Max with them when it happened?

The air is suddenly suffocating, pressing against my chest like a weight. Dank and foul, it seeps into my head like an insidious fog until I can't think.

I have to get out of here. The smell of mesquite and sage and the dry dust of the desert are like a powerful magnet pulling at me. I start to run toward the cave entrance. Even when I'm outside and the sun kisses my skin, I keep running. Back toward the saloon. It looks more forlorn and abandoned than ever. Some instinct tells me I don't want to go back in there until Culebra is back, too. So I skirt around it, head for my car. When I'm inside, when I manage to still the shaking of my hands long enough to fit the key into the ignition and crank it over, I glance into the rearview mirror.

A shadow moves across the road behind me.

I swivel around to take a closer look.

A dark shape, floating, ethereal. How could something as inconsequential as smoke exude such a feeling of menace?

Then, the shadow, too, is gone and all that's left is my fear.