Flight 3108

by Mikeworth, Sharon

  “The press has to be going crazy,” Mason added as Tyler continued to look gloomy. “It can’t be much longer.”

  Tyler brightened up slightly. “You don’t think so?”

  He shook his head, smiling. “No. They’ll have to release us soon.”

  “Cool. I’d like to take Kimi to meet my mom before she flies back.”

  “I’m sure your mother will love her.” Especially when she hears you want to attend her school.

  Mason turned as Tyler continued on his way, and found Dustin waiting to speak with him. “What’s up?”

  Dustin straightened up from the wall where he’d been leaning. “I was thinking about what you said about the media.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re right that they’re going to start wondering soon if we’re not released. People are missing.”

  “I’m sure they’ve been told that they’re believed to be dead.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Are you worried everyone will blame us?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. I just wish I knew how this was going to play out.”

  “You mean, whether they’re going to come up with a story to tell everyone, or whether they’re going to lead us all away in handcuffs or straightjackets?”

  Dustin gave a weak chuckle. “Something like that.”

  “I still believe, like we discussed before, that they’re going to stall as long as they can while they check everything out and then give some sort of statement, which, I hope, will coincide with our release.

  “And I’m pretty sure,” Mason continued, “it won’t contain anything about American Skyways losing a bunch of passengers in the Bermuda Triangle.”

  That got a genuine laugh out of Dustin. “You’re right, you’re right. I guess I’m just tired of being stuck in limbo. But I am glad we’re back.”

  Mason nodded soberly in agreement. It was good to be home.

  The final meetings started late the next afternoon and stretched into the following day. Mason wasn’t called in for his until well after lunch.

  For once he had the room to himself for a few minutes until a thin, fortyish man in a gray suit, one he hadn’t seen before, entered carrying a folder and took the seat across from him at the narrowish table.

  “Mason Tucker?”

  Mason nodded, eyeing the man’s FBI ID clipped to his pocket. Here we go.

  “I’m Agent Mathews.” He opened up the folder and began with no other preamble. “Due to the event,” he said, emphasizing ‘event,’ “the only trauma you sustained was a headache and some neck pain, which I believe has since resolved itself—correct?”

  It was on the tip of Mason’s tongue to retort it was a little more than that, but then he didn’t bother and merely nodded.

  “Mr. Tucker, according to our technicians, you and all the other passengers passed the polygraph tests with flying colors. And none of you have deviated in your account of the incident. Ever. Not once. That, and what we learned from the plane has proven problematic.”

  “Wow, that was fast,” Mason said.

  “Yes, well… With there being no real damage to the FDR sensors, it was just a matter of extracting the information and then letting all the parties to the investigation do their analyzing to figure out what it was telling them.”

  “And what it told them is that we’re telling the truth.”

  “What it told them is that the data doesn’t disprove your story.”

  He slid a paper out of the folder, and Mason’s eyes fell on the document as the agent turned it and pushed it across the table at him. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a non-disclosure agreement, pledging that you will never speak about the incident as you recounted to us ever again. To anyone. Sign it.”

  Agent Mathews said the last part like an order, and as he opened up his jacket for a pen and Mason caught a glimpse of the holstered gun under his arm, he took it as such, bent over the form, and rendered his John Hancock.

  “So what’s the story going to be?” he asked when he’d finished, handing the pen back.

  “We’re going over that next.”

  They were transported back to Fort Lauderdale International that evening, most getting out to greet waiting relatives or catch flights out, and the rest, including Mason, going on to whichever hotel they’d been given a room at for the night since their flights didn’t leave out until the following morning.

  He ended up staying at a different place than the others, but it didn’t matter. He’d already said his goodbyes to Mitch, and to Deb, who was being picked up by her fiancé, and exchanged contact information with the boys, and with Tyler, whom he’d found, to his amusement, munching on leftover doughnuts with Kimi and Becka before they left.

  After he settled in, he walked over to the pizza joint next door, ordered a large pepperoni and a large Coke to go, brought them back to the room, and clicked on the television.

  He scrolled up and down the channels until he found some news, and turned the volume up.

  Onscreen a reporter wearing a lavender pants suit with a runway in the distance behind her began to speak, straining to be heard above the wind and the noise.

  “Officials released a statement this morning saying that Flight 3108, which left out from this very airport and then disappeared and has now suddenly reappeared”—she paused for a second as a surge of wind blew an expertly styled strand of hair across her mouth and she had to peel it off her lipstick—“was the victim of a hijacking. And the other passengers, who unfortunately did not make it back, were apparently killed on the island where the aircraft was forced to land.”

  “Have you been able to find out which island this was?” asked one of the newscasters, the scene switching to the duo behind the desk momentarily before going back to the reporter.

  “No, I’m afraid the location of the island has not been disclosed at this time.”

  “What else have you been able to learn, Darcie?” the same anchorwoman asked.

  Darcie put her hand to her ear, trying to hear as another gust of wind buffeted her. “We’ve learned that the surviving passengers, some of which are here now reuniting with their loved ones and beginning the process of returning home, actually made a heroic move when they saw the other passengers being executed and rushed toward their captors, somehow overtook them, and managed to reclaim the plane.”

  “Wow,” the other newscaster responded in amazement. “And then they flew it all the way back here. True heroes.”

  Mason lowered the volume. They weren’t heroes. They were survivors. Merely survivors.

  He woke up sometime later. Shit, he’d fallen asleep with the TV still on. While eating. He retrieved the partially eaten slice of pizza from the front of his T-shirt and tossed it onto the nightstand.

  He’d also neglected to call Sienna. Rubbing at his sore neck which hadn’t been helped by his cramped position, he sat up all the way and reached for his phone. For some reason, even though he had charged it and it seemed to be powering up as usual, he hadn’t been able to get a signal. He checked it again now and saw it was still indicating no service. He laid it back down, scooted over, and grabbed the handset of the hotel phone.

  He put it to his ear, expecting to hear a dial tone, but instead heard nothing. He reached over and jiggled the disconnect button, but the line remained dead.

  The damn thing didn’t even work. He dropped it back into the cradle and collapsed back down on the bed, for the moment too exhausted to care.

  13

  MASON WOULD BE lying if he said he didn’t feel some trepidation upon boarding his flight out the next morning. But the sun was shining and the sky outside the window was clear and blue. There was nothing to worry about. If he could survive what he and the others had gone through, not once but three times…

  He adjusted his position, getting comfortable, and thought about ordering a drink, then decided against it. He wasn’t really a superstitious person, but doing exactly what he had done
before on that first doomed flight seemed like tempting fate.

  While waiting at the gate, he had briefly considered trying to borrow a phone to call Sienna, but considering how uncomfortable it would have been and how soon he would be home anyway, he had elected to wait. At the apartment, there was the landline that Jess and he had gotten for practically nothing with their cable service when they’d first moved in. He could use it and talk to his sister in private.

  He imagined how Sienna would react. Knowing her, he would only be able to field her questions for so long before she insisted on getting the details. His first inclination had been to tell her the truth, non-disclosure agreement be damned, but he knew she would never believe it. No way.

  He decided to put off thinking about it for the time being. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

  Presently his seatmate arrived—a curvy brunette about his age. Thankfully, she didn’t prove to be overly talkative. He felt not only physically but emotionally drained from the ordeal of the past week. All he wanted at this point was to relax and reflect on everything that had happened. Or better yet, not think about it at all.

  He got belted in as they prepared for takeoff, and soon after, the plane was accelerating down the runway and they were on their way.

  Mason stopped to let a car go by, then continued across and into the long-term parking lot, rolling his bag behind him. He made his way down the row he was on, went to turn right, lifting his head to search for the familiar form of his ten-year-old Tahoe where he’d parked it upon embarking on his fateful trip, then glanced back the other way and thought he saw it a few vehicles down. He changed direction and started toward the SUV he’d spotted—and sure enough it was his. He could have sworn he’d parked it on the other side.

  After stowing the bag in the rear, he climbed in and quickly headed around to settle up. And then he was driving away from the airport to begin the final leg of his journey home.

  He stayed on the highway for a while and then got off. That wasn’t what he wanted to see. He needed grassy hills and rolling meadows and thickly forested countryside. He needed houses and schools and diners and people.

  Where was Jess right then? He felt a muted pang at the thought of her with someone else—and without warning it was on him, like it had just happened yesterday, the same pain and disbelief he’d felt when she left him, and he had to fight, blinking hard, to keep from tearing up. He dragged his mind out of the past and tried to focus on his driving. What was wrong with him? How long had it been since he’d broken down? He must be more wrung out than he’d realized.

  He stopped at the grocery store he usually frequented on the way home for a few things he knew he would need, then started down the long stretch that led to the road his apartment building was on.

  A few minutes later, he rolled up to the four-way at the end. He took a moment to admire the stunning pink cherry tree in full bloom across from him, then looked both ways, and pulled out, cranking the wheel.

  His thoughts wandered as he drove, imagining the awkward conversation he was going to have with his boss when he called to touch base with him and convey he still wanted his job, then drifted back to the lush cherry tree he’d seen. It was definitely Spring; everything was coming alive. His brow wrinkled as something niggled at the back of his mind. Then it was gone as he came up on the little convenience store at the red light before his building on the left. The same red light he’d gone through so many times. Both while Jess was living with him, and later when she was not.

  Returning home to Jess had definitely been better.

  He saw the rhododendron shrubs at the entrance to the complex were flowering lacy, purple blooms as he turned in, and once again he found himself thinking of the cherry tree. There was still something hovering in his memory, just out of reach…

  He reached his customary spot, maneuvered into it, and switched off the engine. Slumping in relief, he sat there for a few seconds before climbing out. Hopefully he would be given a few more days to rest up and recoup before returning to work. It would be nice to sleep in and get his head straight before getting back in the game.

  His neck gave a twinge of discomfort as he lifted his bag to start up the stairs. Would the pain of his injury always linger and keep flaring up, coming back to haunt him and never allowing him to forget?

  At the top, he put the bag down and rolled it the rest of the way to his door on the end. They’d chosen the apartment because of the balcony that looked out over the grass and trees on this side. Jess and he had envisioned summer games of Frisbee and twilight cookouts. And of course there’d been a few of those—but precious few. Those halcyon days when they’d been everything to each other had come and gone so quickly. If only…

  Once again he tried to pull his thoughts away from the past as he fit his key in. He should be thankful he wasn’t right that very moment stranded on a frozen world, or worse, crash-landed on a frozen world. He pushed the door open and moved on into the apartment, parking the bag by the coatrack.

  “Oh, you’re home!” called a voice from the kitchen.

  Mason stopped in his tracks. That hadn’t sounded like his neighbor Paula; that had sounded like Jess.

  “Look Bruno, Daddy’s home,” came the voice again.

  It was Jess. Heart soaring, he just had time to wonder if she’d suddenly decided to forgive him, when she came through the doorway and he caught sight of the fluffy creature at her feet.

  “It’s Daddy, Bruno,” cried Jess, pausing too as the dog skidded to a stop and cocked its head in puzzlement.

  Bruno, the last time he’d seen him had been a long-haired tortoiseshell cat. What he was looking at now was a small brown-and-white dog.

  A dog named Bruno. Not a cat, but a dog.

  Mason stared for a second in confusion at the furry animal now tentatively wagging its tail, then lifted his head to gaze at Jess.

  Jess, there in his apartment.

  Jess, slightly thinner with her dark-blonde hair cut shorter but even more gorgeous if that were possible.

  Jess, inexplicably happy like nothing had ever happened and now flying toward him and wrapping her arms around him.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up as his eyes flitted rapidly around the room. Same furniture. Same curtains. Same television in the corner. Same throw blanket left piled on the couch. But not the same flowers on the dining room table.

  Jess, feeling his stiffness, drew back. Mason barely noticed. Their old arrangement of fake yellow-and-black sunflowers that Jess had left when she departed for good was gone and in its place now sat a centerpiece of dried pink flowers.

  The magnificent tree he’d noticed blooming on the way home flashed across his mind once again, and right behind it, another smaller prettily blooming tree he’d seen that had been a paler hue not unlike the dried flowers on the table. With mounting horror, he finally made the connection and remembered where he’d seen it. It had been directly across from the spot he’d parked the Tahoe in. He’d noticed it because out of habit he had made a mental note of it, along with several other young dogwoods planted in a line, so he’d know where he left his vehicle. It had been on the other side of the airport parking lot. This time his Tahoe had been on the far side where there were no trees at all!

  As if he needed further confirmation, the song on the stereo system that had been playing under the television ended and an old Rolling Stones piece came on. But something was off about it. The voice didn’t sound right. “Who the hell is that?” he croaked.

  “What? The song?” The dog at her feet that used to be a cat let out a sharp yip.

  The song continued, the same soulful, funky rendition of “Miss You” he’d always loved, except someone else was singing it. “That’s not Mick Jagger,” he said in a near whisper.

  “Mick Jaguar? Who’s Mick Jaguar? That’s Nick Striker.”

  “Nick Striker?” His thoughts felt muddled, like they were moving through molasses.

  “Yeeees. N
ick Striker. Of the Rolling Stones.”

  His eyes went wide as he finally faced the truth, and he felt himself sway.

  This was not their world.

  He grabbed at a chair to keep from falling.

  “Mason! Are you okay?” he heard Jess cry as if from a distance.

  This was not their Earth. It was eerily similar, but not the same. Close but no cigar.

  He turned his head, eyes roaming over the apartment, past Jess’s increasingly bewildered expression. This was not his living room.

  That was not his kitchen or his bedroom. The town outside the windows was not the one he’d lived in for going on seven years.

  The world he now stood on was not the one he’d always known. A world he would probably never see again.

  On their Earth, unless some other version of them had managed to land there, he and the boys and Mitch and Deb and Tyler, and all the other passengers of Flight 3108, were still believed lost. Even now their family and friends were grieving for them and would continue to grieve for them, for on that world they had died.

  But on this world, some of them lived.

  And on this Earth, Jess had never left him.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again as his shock began to subside and the implication became clear.

  Here Jess had never left him. Here he had never lost control of himself and stepped over the line. Here he could have a second chance and spend every day making it up to her.

  Looking into her beautiful, concerned face, he began to smile as he reached down to give the new Bruno an affectionate pat. And then with wonder, he pulled her back into his arms.

  Had anyone else from the plane realized they had not, in fact, made it back to their world? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. All he knew was he had his Jess back.