this place haunts me.

lake piru

She pressed cool, calloused hands against sun-beaten cheeks.  The adrenaline of the day had left her and exhaustion crept in, uninvited. 

"The hell's taking him so long?" She mused, tired eyes scanning listlessly in the direction of the road. Though, in the near pitch black of the Topatopa Mountains and lacking guidance from the long departed caravan of headlights, it was impossible to tell in what direction she was looking at all. 

In the cool night air and finally (almost) completely alone, Molly relinquished her polka-dotted linen face mask. Her lungs swelled, savoring a tea of white sage and blooming chamise. Exhale. She faced the water, discernible only by the waning moon reflected in the ripples on the surface. Black water, black mountains, black sky. 

She smiled to herself. Late calls were always her favorite, the best of both worlds. If timed just right they allowed one to experience the easygoing late-morning traffic, stragglers running errands and valley dwelling Influencers on their way to... wherever it is they go during the day. Even better was the way home, empty freeways and the expanse of twinkling city lights. Hitting the drive-thru for a side of fries and just enough caffeine to keep you awake on the hour long trek, while still allowing you to crash the moment your head hit the pillow. She looked forward to that drive, one scheduled to begin half an hour ago.  

Molly raised her phone. 10:48 illuminated in large, slender white letters on its face. Today had been the last day of a long month of filming on a low-budget movie. As a Production Assistant she was always among the first in the crew to arrive and the last to leave. Lake Piru, the location they'd been shooting at just about every day, was a little over an hour drive from the no-frills two-bedroom Silverlake apartment she split with two other roommates. Two odd hours of driving on top of twelve or more working hours (lunch breaks not included) meant tight turnarounds, especially for lower level workers. This final week proved to be especially grueling, and it was beginning to take its toll. 

The entire production had been riddled with delays and odd occurrences. Unusual weather patterns, equipment malfunctions, but the most unsettling were the rogue flood warning sirens in the town of Piru that seemed to be malfunctioning. Almost a century later, the effects of the St. Francis dam disaster were still deeply felt throughout the Santa Clara River Valley. More than four hundred thirty-one men, women, and children washed out to sea by a wall of water two miles wide. The entire warning system was tested monthly and scrupulously maintained. Yet, just in the last couple of weeks individual sirens would sound at the seemingly most random of times, halting production until they could be silenced. The location manager had been on the phone with the city non-stop, but after multiple inspections the cause was still to be determined. 

"Any sign of him yet?" A booming voice from right behind her. 

"Shit! Marco, you scared me." She laughed apologetically - quickly grabbing the mask out of her pocket and holding it haphazardly over her nose and mouth. "I'm so sorry! I forgot you were still here." 

"Shoulda... seen... your face!" He managed, bent over through masked guffaws. Marco was the Transpo Captain, a hearty middle aged man and loving father, no stranger to a cold beer after an honest days' work. He'd volunteered to stay back with her after everyone else had left, a secluded lake like this was nowhere for anyone to be left alone at night. 

"Now that you mention it, that looks like headlights coming up the hill. Here's hoping!" Molly sighed, relieved both that the approaching car could be her ticket home, and also at the comfort of having a figure like Marco around brought her. She had been tasked with handing off the keys to the trailers to the night security guard, to be passed off to the crew scheduled to pick them up in the morning.