Sunday, August 7, 2011, 12:00 a.m. Los Angeles

My brother Martin peeks between two boulders atop the hill where Fernando Salvia disappeared yesterday. Leaning outside the stone circle, he drops to a crouch, expression grim. "We have to help them!"

"Have you gone soft?"

Kendrick whispers, "Stay out of this witchy business, bro."

George's eyes widen. "Marty's right."

In a teasing, sing-song voice, I mimic his words.

Martin stands. "Fuck off, I'm going in." As he advances into the rock formation, I'm blinded by searing white light.

For fuck's sake! No way Marty's facing that evil spirit alone. Feeling my way, I combat crawl until my fingers touch his tennis shoes. He's sprawled on the ground.

I grab his ankle. As he tries to kick me, I yell. "It's me, Ben!"

My closed eyes hurt like hell, sending tears streaming down my cheeks. If that redhead blinded me, I'll end her.

Members of the McBride family are shouting, "What happened?" "I can't see!"

Thelight penetrating my eyelids fades, along with the pain. Purple and black blotches seep into the white glare. After about five minutes, darkness returns and I open my eyes.

Martin rises and reaches for my hand. I slap it away as I stand. Ken and George rush into the circle to flank us. The hooded man has vanished, along with that baby. A bony fire-haired forty-something woman is on her knees. If she weren't so skinny, she'd be a total 'Mom I'd Like to Fuck.'  Amber and an older sixty-ish redheaded lady wrap their arms around the weeping MILF.

Dr. McBride hovers behind Amber. "Everyone okay?" As Amber nods, his eyes dart to me. His features harden as he crosses the dusty expanse to stand before us. "What have you boys done? Why torture Aislinn?"

"Dude, we've got nothing to do with this craziness! We're looking for Fern... our relative."

McBride glares before turning to inspect the formation. "Must be projection equipment here somewhere." He scans the rocks before exiting to circle the perimeter.

Martin eyes the women. "Who's the Brujo?"

The old redhead rises to stand, tears glistening in her eyes. She walks about 50 feet before stopping. Leaning in, she hisses, "Did you conjure him? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

The thought of us Salvias as warlocks brings a chuckle to my chest, which escapes as a snort. "I'd ask you the same question, witch."

Kendrick chimes in. "Things were pretty chill around here until," he gestures to Amber, "she showed up."

Amber's cheeks turn red. She buries her face in the sobbing woman's hair.

George walks to the pair. Dropping to a crouch, he touches the kid's back. "Is she your mother?"

Amber nods, her long hair falling in a curtain.

"What that Brujo did with your brother? That's some sick shit. Who is he?"

Her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug.

I eye the old woman. "That asshole came through the portal, which means he can return." I close the distance between us until I'm looking at her neck. She's almost a head taller. "Who is this prick?"

She averts her eyes and doesn't answer my question. Liar. I grab her by the chin and force her to look at me. "If anyone gets hurt because of him, it's on you."

Dr. McBride shouts as he reenters the circle. "Let go of Rose!"

I step away from the old woman. McBride takes her by the arm and leads her to rejoin Amber and her mother. "Aislinn, are you okay to walk?" Aislinn sniffles, raises her head and nods. McBride and Amber offer their hands, which she takes as they help her stand.

As the four exit the rock formation, Kendrick yells, "Find any cameras?" He's smirking until I deliver a vicious punch. "Don't antagonize him. Time for reconnaissance."

Ken rubs his upper arm. "If we follow, they'll spot us."

"We know where they're going, dipshit." I turn to George. "Remember that four-foot door in the garage? Bet there's a crawl space under the house."

George's lips spread into a grin as he motions to the northwest. "Stick to the tree line. If we move fast, we'll get to Peppergate Ranch before the McBrides."

Ken shakes his head. "Who the fuck cares? Why are we wasting our time with them?"

Martin grasps his shoulder. "Amber shows up and," he gestures to me and George, "our mother materializes. Go home. I'm going to find Mama."

Kendrick throws him off. "Whatever. Let's do this."

We depart the stone circle to skid down the hill. When we hit the reservoir floor, we jog north and then west at a brisk pace. Crossing will take the McBrides a half hour. We reach the fence in 15 minutes. In silence, we climb the chain link and drop to the meadow behind the pool. Keeping low to the ground, we sneak around the backside and inch up a sloping incline to reach the garage's back door.

I grab the knob and pull. The door shudders open to a darkened, cavernous space. I crouch on the balls of my feet in front of rectangular framing, just inside the door and to the left. Pushing with one hand releases part of the wall. It swings inward into darkness.

"Close the garage door behind you," I whisper to George, the last to enter. We retrieve small headlamps from our backpacks.

I don't wait for the others to strap on their gear. Leaning into the blackness, my headlamp illuminates a wood ladder with six steps. Turning to my brothers, I wave a salute as I descend backward into the crawl space.

Dust floats into my nostrils as my feet touch the ground. Pivoting to the darkness, the beam of light sweeps over a towering junk pile. I move in an easterly direction to slip past crumpled wire and broken doors. The room is built into the hillside. The space is about 12 feet wide and who knows how long, with a dirt floor and concrete block walls. With so much trash, I can't make out the eastern end of the room.

After walking 30 feet, I reach a brick wall.  Shit. "Sorry guys, it's a bust."

Ken strides to my side to deliver a knuckle-punch to my upper arm. "Told you, asshole."

Martin joins me in front of the wall and touches his chin. His eyes dart to the concrete walls, then back to the brick. "Why'd they use more expensive material for this wall, when no one sees it?"

George joins us to scan the wall's width and height. "Hold on, maybe Marty's onto something." He leans close and points to a spider crawling across the bricks. Large, with a bulbous orange body and a brilliant white pattern across its back, long legs propel graceful movement. George watches the insect scuttle like he's mesmerized.

The spider scurries across the wall until stops to rest in the middle of a brick at the center.

Ken sputters, "Really? Are we bug hunters now?"

I raise a hand for silence as I watch the spider work its delicate legs around the outer edge of this brick. After 30 seconds, it pauses to turn its head. I swear to Christ it's looking at us with its tiny multitude of eyes. I can almost hear its little mandible clicking. Bringing my nose within an inch of the creature sends it scuttling. Between the mortar and the brick is a slight gap.

I angle my fingers around the brick to pry it loose. Marty inhales sharply as I pull it free with both hands. Behind the brick is a lever.

My brothers crowd in. George raises his chin to cast his eyes around the ceiling. "Wait. What if this is some Indiana Jones-style trap?"

Ken laughs. "So what? If we expect a booby-trap, it can't do shit!"

Martin frowns. "Maybe the trap won't kill us, but I'd rather not have my limbs amputated."

Ken groans as we inspect the beams overhead for any telltale cracks suggesting something huge will drop the moment one of us pulls the lever. George heads to the north and Martin to the south to examine the walls for discordant seams.

When they're satisfied there's no booby traps, I take a deep breath and pull the handle. The wall erupts in creaking and scraping as a four by six foot portion slowly swings inward.

I eye my brothers before poking my head into a darkened room. A musty smell hits my nostrils. The light illuminates walls made from the same stone as the boulders surrounding the portal. This chamber is way smaller than the crawl space, about ten by seven feet. The ceiling is wood-paneled, the dust-covered floor wood as well. There's nothing in the room except for a stone pedestal with a six by six inch brass chest.

I lean forward and rest my foot at the base of the pedestal. With one hand, I reach for the box and lift the lid.

Cymbals click together in time, a ch-ch-ch melody coming through a hidden speaker. Glancing inside the chest, I discover a bound journal.

My brothers form a circle as Ken asks, "Did you find Fernando's treasure?"

I close the lid with a snort. "Just someone's stupid diary."

The volume increases as an eerie synthesizer accompanies a young man's tenor voice. The lyrics suggest torment as the singer questions the intentions of one he once trusted. Whatever the vocalist believed was only an illusion.

George slaps his thigh. "Pale Shelter by Tears for Fears? This setup must be from the 1980s!"

Martin moves away from the brass chest to the eastern wall. His index finger juts forward, like he's ringing a doorbell. A 'click' tells me he's found the release as the wooden door swings inward. The beam of his headlamp illuminates a narrow earthen passageway.

We crowd around Martin in the doorway. The tunnel, made of square stones forming a symmetrical arch, stretches far beyond the beams of our headlamps.

Ken groans. "What are we doing? How can we eavesdrop if we can't hear shit down here?"

Martin raises his chin. "Check this out!" He points to a square wood trapdoor in the ceiling, a foot above his head. "Forget the tunnel. I bet that door opens into the house."

George vacates the room and returns a couple minutes later with a wooden crate. Placing it underneath the trapdoor, he inclines an ear and listens. Ken tries to speak, but George shushes him.

I tap my toes on the floor as we wait. Every few minutes, George nods or holds up a finger for silence.

After 15 minutes, he steps down to face us. "The McBrides are in some deep and serious shit."

https://youtu.be/_4PFWPw_lIY

AUTHOR NOTE:

Banner photo of Peppergate Ranch taken by the author

Playlist Pale Shelter by Tears for Fears