Seg - Issue 7: Turbulence

Air travel really isn’t my thing. This being only my forth time on a plane; I remain a novice on flight etiquette. Wanting the window seat, hoping for another glass of wine with the steak dinner, or how about making simple conversation with neighbours! Yea, I’m a flight looser, and riding first class is like chillin’ with the cool kids. My plane took off from the Swahili Coast eleven hours ago, stopping in London, we continued on for another six hours. I’ll be home in Ontario in five ours or so. But I wasn’t in any hurry; this flight was a relaxing break in my recently chaotic life. ‘I wonder what Swartz is up too right now?’ I thought, having never responded to his email. ‘I Bet Vengeance has robbed a bank or something by now.’ I chuckled. And as for Taves, he’s probably still testing things out. It really is interesting how people respond differently to power. I myself was on the road towards insanity. But that’s all changed after I saw the light; literally.

The in-flight entertainment was Kevin Costner’s Waterworld; definitely could have done without that. But I did make a new friend. She was an accountant from New England, and how terrifically boring that was, but it didn’t matter, because we were in a plane, in the sky; of course, she just happened to be sexy. But not Monica Bellucci sexy mind you; more cute than sexy. It was the edge of mystery that culminated the allure; as if she was a character from a 1940’s romance movie, quick witted with a cigarette in hand. I wondered if she smoked. My mind was still adjusting to loosing my power. When I really consider it, dying wasn’t all that bad. Being ordinary was alright with me. Maybe that was the blessing I was told about; maybe my ability was feeling content.

We talked about nothing really. I told her of my trip to Sahel Africa; leaving out my former mind controlling ability, the encounter with a forest monster, Ababa, the haunting promise of a dead warrior, and particulars surrounding the dying I experienced. To be honest, I have no idea what I said about the trip. “They had great coffee!” I admitted. I was a little wined and dinned now. We talked politics, art and music, and the latest trends in movie making; her conversational repertoire was very likeable. She wore heels, but accompanied them with jeans, and her hair was short, but not real short, leaving enough to tie some back; and she sported a head band, which was cool for retro reasons. She had a great laugh. I was calm and collected, and not nervous at all. I felt like a new person, but then again, I was a new person. My name is Alastor; at least, that’s what I told her. To be honest, I didn’t really feel much like Ryan anymore.

“So you’re a history guy, tell me something historical,” she challenged.

“Well, did you know that until the Europeans made their journey to the new world, they had never seen a tomato?” She smiled, and sipped her Caesar.

“No. I didn’t know that. But who wants to know that?! A well spring of knowledge you are. Are all Canadians so brilliant?”

“Just me and the Prime Minister really; it’s cool, he’s like a President, except he can’t blow other Country’s shit up when he looses a round of golf.”

She laughed now, almost spilling her drink from her mouth. I passed her my napkin, but dropped it. Reaching down, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a guy sitting three sits down looking at me. He was facing me, but not my new friend. “What’s up with him?” I said aloud. He wore a ball cap, some team I never heard of; “H” was the logo. He looked over at us continually, but the lights had dimmed now for sleeping, and I could barely see facial features.

“That’s uncomfortable.” Looking back, she whispered her joke. “He into baseball, ha, who does that?”

“Not a team I know of.” I wasn’t laughing. Too much weird stuff had happened in the last month for anything to be coincidence. What was worse was that without my ability, I had no way of protecting my new friend. I realized at that moment, I hadn’t her name.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Amy. What’s your number?”

“You don’t live in Canada.”

“I know, but I think I like Canadian boys; I might have to buy cottage.”

“Won’t find me there, I’ve recently come to loath forestry.”

Looking back towards the man in cap, I noticed the empty seat. “He’s on the move.” I uttered. Amy looked puzzled, but I was just getting started. I rose to my feet;

“I’ll be right back, got make sure that guys not a terrorist or something.”

My smile said I was joking, but my mind knew better. Walking towards the washroom I studied the seats around me. He hadn’t changed seats, not like anyone would notice, everyone was sleeping. “What time is it?” I pondered. Looking to my watch I realized it was 2 in the morning. Man, I’m not tired at all. I made my way pass the flight attendant, asking her where I could find the washroom. I remembered the night in the hospital under observation, reading the Odyssey for my mythology course, and finishing it before the breakfast arrived. I remembered the trip back to the hotel, packing my bags, dining with Ababa and his family, and spending the night on a nearby hill, taking in the Country’s beauty under the rising sun. I remembered something I shouldn’t have forgotten. I have not slept for two days straight, and I feel perfectly healthy. How is that possible?

Finding the washroom, I hoped for a telepathic link, and rediscovered my absence of ability. “Hope my friends still hang out with me now.” I joked to myself. Swinging open the small door, I learned a shocking truth. Airplane washrooms were dangerously small, and too, that this one was empty. “Where the hell is that guy?” Time for a pee break! Closing the door behind me, it was all business. Washing my hands was even a challenge in the tight quarters. Then I thought about it. How do people shack up in these things; envisioning the possibilities, I commended those brave souls, who braved sexapades at 1000 feet. The thought also made me cautious of touching anything.

‘knock, knock..’

“Busy!” I announced.

“It’s me,” whispered back.

“Amy? What is it, are you okay?”

“Yeah, open the door.” She was still whispering.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Just open the door stupid.”

I did as she said. Thinking she was about to give me information about the weird cap guy. Instead, upon opening up, she gave me something completely different. Swinging the door behind her in a hurry, she kissed me with such speed and force, my head banged up against the wall. At first I was surprised, and then followed intrigue, and finally I understood exactly how people did this stuff in the sky. I ripped off her shirt and she mine. We continued kissing, and then, with a shocking pull away, she stopped.

“Let’s go.” She smiled.

“huh? What about the sexsapade?” I complained.

But she returned, “ha, not here, eww! Don’t worry. Just follow me.”

Suffice to say, forty minutes later, in one semi-comfortable cargo bay, we finished the discussion we started in the washroom. Just sitting there now, we talked about what we were going to do when we got home. I was going to catch up on some homework, and try my best to explain to my friends what happened exactly. She was going back to work. She explained her genuine affection for numbers and math, I joked about that, and she laughed; we were a good match. She applied her lipstick.

“Why did you really go to Africa Ryan?”

“I don’t know. I guess I wanted to find something or someone.”

“Did you?”

“On so many levels, yes.” I smiled.

“You’re one of those deep guys aren’t you?” she looked right through me.

“Sure. I mean no. I’m kind of a jock.”

She laughed at me and not with me mind you, but at me; “that’s why I dragged you down here actually, I’ve got a thing for tight abs.”

“Really? Boy did you mess up.” And then it hit me. The saddest, more unfortunate discovery made on my journey thus far.

“You did mess up.” I paused. Standing to my feet I grabbed my cloths and dressed myself in a hurry. “My name isn’t Ryan. Who told you that name? Who do you work for?”

In a second she was on her feet. Standing there unclothed, she grabbed my throat; squeezing it, she pushed me back into the wall. She was weak, which ruled out loup-garou. But I couldn’t very well hit her. Placing on my chest a cell phone, it stuck to me like tape. Strange.

“So that’s what this was, business?” I yelled.

She smiled, “No. This wasn’t even in my contract.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t find it odd.” She was quick with her words now, and wasting little time, she continued, “this head band protects me from you.”

“You got this all wrong.”

“Sure you just travel to Africa harassing local officials because most students do that. We don’t miss a thing. Your surfaced on our radar weeks ago. We can see even further than you. You Readers are all the same; you think you’re untouchable.”

Stepping back, she reached into her purse, taking out her lipstick. She opened it, and pointed it at me like a gun.

“I use my brain too. Wanna see my trick?” She stood there, a completely different woman.

Without words, she clicked the tube. A bright light surged from the stick into my body, and in an instant, I was gone. It felt like falling. The air was all around me now and looking up, I saw the plane above, while looking down below, I saw the ocean. I was falling! I quickly understood my fate. Never again to see my family or friends, never to know what the blessing of the gods really was, doomed to die from a falling airplane over the Atlantic; “That bitch teleported me with lipstick!” But why the cell phone strapped to my chest? “Wait, that’s not a cell phone?"

Back in passenger seating, a loud bang could heard from outside the plane. The turbulence shook the craft a bit. Amy made her way through the isles, clothed and quiet. She took a seat next to an unfamiliar face, who wore a familiar cap. She leaned in, and told him her good news.

“It’s done. I need a smoke.”

“Took you long enough, where were you?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Slut.” The caped man responded with a laugh.

“Shame too, he was kind of cute; in a small town kind of way. It’s your fault, where did you run off to earlier?”

“I got freaked, the way he was looking over I thought he was reading. Are you sure this cap works?”

Amy was not pleased with his lack of faith, “Of course it does. I made it. That’s what I do.”

“I still don’t know why you didn’t just let me crush his skull. I like doing that you know.” The brute cackled.

“I’m the thinker you’re the bruiser; that’s why we’re a team. So why don’t you leave the thinking part to me and allow you the privilege of breaking shit. Besides, what would you have done with the body? No evidence, remember.”

“So you’re new toy worked well?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it didn’t.”

The cap man continued, “And you’re sure he’s dead?”

“If the bomb didn’t get him, or the fall, then the ocean will. Ryan Seguin is dead; call it in.”