What The Desert Keeps

"Yes, I knew her."

"No, not well. Just... around town. Marfa's small. You see the same faces."

"Nineteen. She'd just graduated high school that May."

"I don't know. I mean, everyone has dreams at that age, right? She wanted to get out, I think. Most kids do."

"Her family ran the diner on Highland. Her mother was the manager. Her father did maintenance at the high school."

"I'd see her there sometimes. At the diner. She waitressed summers and weekends."

"No, I don't think she had plans for college. At least, none that I heard about."

"There was a boyfriend. Carlos. Carlos Ochoa."

"Twenty-one, I think. Maybe twenty-two."

"His family lived across the border. Ojinaga. They had business interests."

"I... I don't know the specifics."

"People talk. In small towns, people always talk."

"Her parents didn't approve. That much was obvious."

"I saw them argue once. Outside the diner. Her mother and her. The daughter was crying, saying they didn't understand. That he was different."

"Different from what?"

"From his family, I guess. From what they thought he was."

"Mid-July. July sixteenth, I think."

"She left a note. Said she was leaving and they couldn't stop her. Said she loved them but she had to make her own choices."

"They called the police the next morning when they found it."

"Well, she was nineteen. Legally an adult. And the note said she left willingly."

"They tried. Her father drove around looking. Her mother called everyone she could think of."

"No. No one had seen her."

"I think they knew. Deep down. Where she'd gone."

"With Carlos. To Mexico."

"To get married. At least, that's what people said."

"I don't know. Maybe a week? Maybe longer?"

"A hotel. Just across the border. Nothing fancy."

"They were supposed to get married the next day. Had an appointment at the courthouse."

"No. She was alone when they found the room."

"Just her things. Her bag. Her phone was there, turned off."

"The bed was made. Like she'd been sleeping in the other one."

"Two doubles."

"No sign of struggle. No blood. Nothing broken."

"He was gone. His things were gone."

"No one knows."

"His family said they hadn't seen him."

"No. They didn't seem concerned."

"That's what her parents said."

"I don't... I mean, I wasn't there. I only know what people said."

"There were rumors. About what his family did."

"Trafficking. Drugs. Maybe people, too."

"I don't know."

"Yes."

"That maybe she saw something. Maybe she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I don't know."

"Why are you asking me? I already told you, I didn't know her that well."

"Because I saw her. At the diner. Because I was one of the last people to see her before she left."

"I don't remember. I told you that already."

"She seemed... happy. Excited. Nervous, maybe."

"Like someone in love. Like someone about to make a huge mistake."

"I don't know why I said that."

"Can we take a break?"

"How long have we been talking?"

"It feels longer."

"I'm tired."

"No, I'm fine. I'm just... this is hard. Talking about her."

"Because I keep thinking about her parents. How they must feel."

"No. They never found her."

"The desert. That's what people think."

"Because that's where bodies go. Out there. Where no one can find them."

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Please."

"I don't know."

"She was sleeping. In the hotel room. She was tired from the drive."

"How do I know that?"

"I... people said. Her things were... she'd been sleeping."

"I'm confused."

"Can you repeat the question?"

"I don't remember what I said before."

"I'm sorry. I'm trying."

"She woke up. She heard voices in the other room."

"Carlos. And others."

"I don't know how many."

"She thought maybe it was his family. Come to congratulate them or something."

"She got up. She was going to say hello."

"She opened the door."

"There was a case on the coffee table. Open. And inside... packages. Wrapped in plastic. And guns."

"She froze."

"They didn't see her at first. They were talking. Counting something."

"Then Carlos looked up."

"He said... he said 'what the fuck, Carlos.'"

"Wait. No. Someone else said that. One of the other men."

"Carlos looked at her. And then he looked down."

"She tried to back away."

"But they moved fast. One of them grabbed her arm."

"She screamed. I think she screamed."

"She said 'Carlos, please.'"

"She said 'don't let them do this.'"

"He didn't move."

"He just stood there. Looking at the floor."

"I don't know what he was thinking."

"Maybe he knew he couldn't stop them. Maybe he knew if he tried, they'd kill him too."

"Maybe he just didn't care enough."

"They pulled her toward the door."

"She fought. She tried to fight."

"But there were three of them. Or four. Strong men."

"She kept saying his name. Over and over. 'Carlos. Carlos, please.'"

"He never looked at her."

"Not once."

"They put her in a truck."

"She was still in her sleep clothes. A t-shirt. Underwear."

"They drove for a long time."

"It was still dark. Then it wasn't."

"The sun came up over the desert."

"How do I know that?"

"I just... I know."

"They stopped where there was nothing. Just dirt and scrub and sky."

"They pulled her out."

"I don't want to talk about what happened next."

"Please don't make me."

"I don't remember."

"I don't remember."

"I don't."

"It hurt."

"That's all. It just... it hurt."

"And then it didn't."

"And then there was nothing."

"No. They never found her."

"The desert keeps things."

"That's what people say."

"The desert keeps what it takes."

"I don't know how long."

"Years, I think."

"Her parents are still alive. Her mother doesn't work at the diner anymore."

"Her father quit the high school."

"They moved away. Couldn't stay in Marfa. Couldn't keep seeing the places she'd been."

"They have a website. One of those missing persons websites. Her picture is still there. Smiling. Nineteen forever."

"No. No one was ever arrested."

"Carlos disappeared. His family said he went to Guadalajara. Or maybe Monterrey."

"No one looked too hard."

"Because she was just a girl who made bad choices. Who ran away with the wrong boy."

"Because that's what people do. They blame the victim."

"They say she should have known better. Should have listened to her parents."

"They say she got what was coming to her."

"I didn't say that."

"I would never say that."

"She was nineteen. She was in love. She thought she was choosing her own life."

"She thought he'd protect her."

"She was wrong."

"Stop."

"Please stop asking me that."

"I've told you everything."

"I don't know anything else."

"Why do you keep asking?"

"What do you want from me?"

"I want to leave."

"I want to stop talking about this."

"When can I go?"

"You never told me how long this would take."

"What do you mean?"

"What do you mean I can't leave?"

"I don't understand."

"How long have I been here?"

"In this room. With you. Answering questions."

"It feels like... I don't know. Hours. Days."

"What do you mean I've been here longer?"

"That's not possible."

"I would remember."

"I would... I would know if..."

"Oh god."

"Oh god, no."

"The hotel room. The case on the table. The men grabbing me."

"That wasn't something I heard about."

"That was..."

"I was there."

"I was her."

"I am her."

"How long?"

"How long have I been dead?"

"Seven years?"

"No. No, that's not... my parents. Someone would have..."

"They did look. They're still looking."

"But I'm here."

"Where is here?"

"What are you?"

"Why are you making me tell this?"

"Again?"

"What do you mean again?"

"I've told you before?"

"How many times?"

"I don't remember. I don't remember any of it."

"Every night?"

"Every night I tell you how I died?"

"And every morning I forget?"

"Why?"

"Why would you do this to me?"

"Please."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for whatever I did. I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry I didn't listen."

"I'm sorry I loved him."

"Please let me go."

"Please."

"My mother. I want to tell my mother I'm sorry."

"I can't?"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not really here."

"Because I'm nowhere."

"Because the desert kept me."

"How much longer?"

"Forever?"

"No. Please. There has to be... there has to be an end."

"There has to be..."

"Yes. I knew her."

"No, not well. Just... around town. Marfa's small."

"You see the same faces."