The car drove by itself, powered by an unseen force, but it came to a stop eight blocks from home and wouldn’t go another inch, so Zezolla got out and ran. She could not outrun the bells that had long since stopped chiming, but she tried anyway. Her dress was falling to pieces. A stubborn weariness crept into her limbs. She didn't have long now. One more block...
She stumbled, bare feet skidding on the sidewalk, and fell right at the feet of a surprised man leaving his parked car. He helped her up and was about to ask if she was all right, and then he saw her face. A surprised scream lodged in his mouth but he didn't have time to force it out before she was running again. The door was open. She fell at Madrina's feet and hugged the old woman's bare legs. She tried to cry, but she couldn't anymore. Madrina stroked her hair and made soothing noises.
“There, there,” she said. “No need for tears. Let your Madrina make it all better.”
She led the miserable girl to the basement door, beckoning for her to follow into the hissing darkness below. And Zezolla went.
***
Raj clutched the slipper so hard his knuckles hurt. The old woman still hadn't said anything. She sat on a three-legged stool and smoked a pipe, the air cloudy with the smell of it. The small house was too full of furniture and strange odds and ends, so that the tiny loveseat he crouched on the end of was almost the only empty space. He cleared his throat.
“And that's what happened. I know I sound crazy coming to you with this story, but...well, you must have met someone who meant something to you once.”
“What makes you think she lives here?” the old woman said. She hadn't spoken in so long that Raj was surprised to discover that her voice worked after all.
“She told me it was a house overlooking the ocean.”
“Lots of houses overlook the ocean.”
“The car she left in is on your lawn.”
The old stood, with some difficulty, and hobbled to the window. Tugging the curtain aside she pointed to the rusted heap in front of the house. “You think this girl drove away in that car?”
The decrepit pile of scrap clearly hadn't run in years. There weren't even any tires, and the axles would never move even if there were. But Raj didn't back down.
“There's a decal on the back window that I recognize. I wrote down the first three letters of the license plate, and the plate is still on it.” And it was, though the lettering was now so faded it was barely legible. “I can't explain it, but I'm sure it's the same one.”
Rather than reply, the old woman drew on her pipe again, scrutinizing him through a cloud of smoke. Sitting down again took her a long time. The tea she'd served him had gone cold, but Raj drank it anyway. It was bitter.
“Lots of houses overlook the ocean,” the woman said again. “You must have spent a long time finding this one.”
“Months.”