by Adrien Leduc
Chapter Six
PORSPODER
His eyes are locked on mine and they've got me. Hypnotized. It's as though I'm his prey and he's my captor. A fly caught in the spider’s web.
“Sarah?”
I awake at the sound of my name.
“Sarah, it’s time to board.”
Groggily I awake, rubbing my eyes and looking around the terminal. The sign above me reads “Porte/Gate D 9” and I remember we’re at the Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris waiting for our flight to Brest, the second largest city in Brittany.
“How long was I asleep?” I ask, massaging the sleep from my eyes.
Uncle Marty’s standing over me, his bag in one hand and our tickets in the other. “About an hour.”
“An hour...feels like longer...”
“It’ll take you a few days to get adjusted to the time difference...”
I nod. “Yeah...”
“Come on, up you get.” He leans down and helps me to my feet. “Troy’s got your carry-on.”
I look at Troy. “Thanks.”
He smiles. “No problem.”
“Where’s Josh?” I ask, glancing around. “D” gates span the entire corridor and it’s packed with people.
“At the store there buying water for all of us.”
There’s a little glass-fronted store on the opposite side of the corridor - the kind of store where you can buy newspapers and magazines and snacks for the plane. Josh at the counter waiting as the cashier counts him back his change.
DING.
I look up automatically, waiting to hear the message over the intercom.
“Ceci c’est un message...”
“Oh, yeah...I guess everything’s in French now...”
Troy smiles. “Yep. But this is a good chance to brush up on your French.”
“Pshhhhh, I don’t speak French...do you?”
“Oui, je parle francais.”
I shoot him a sideways glance. “Where did you learn French?”
“My parents.”
“Hunh?”
“I’m French-Canadian. Franco-Ontarien to be exact.”
I practically slap my forehead. “Oh yeah...Trottier.”
He smiles, an all-knowing smile, as though I should have known.
“So, what’s the word for airport in French?” I ask, testing him.
I don’t doubt that he speaks French...but he can’t be that much smarter than me. That just wouldn’t be cool.
“Aéroport,” he answers with a grin. “Give me a tougher one.”
I laugh. “I don’t know...um...suitcase?”
“Valise.”
“Okay, you speak French,” I say with another laugh.
“Are you not taking French in school?” asks Uncle Marty, sounding concerned. “Here, let’s get in line,” he says.
It seems other people are starting to line up at the desk now where two flight attendants are checking tickets. I’m happy to see that the line is moving along fairly quickly.
“I did...up until this year.”
Uncle Marty looks at me as he steers me toward the line. “Why didn’t you take it this year?”
“Because...I don’t know...I guess - ”
But no other words leave my mouth. Because, just as before, my eyes meet those of the bald man with the scar. Those ice-cold, piercing eyes that send shivers down my spine once again.
“That’s him!” I squeak, hardly able to get a word out I’m so seized up with surprise.
“Who?” asks Uncle Marty, whirling around to look in the direction I’m pointing.
“Him! The man from the plane. The man with the scar - ”
“Alright, here’s everyone’s water,” Josh interrupts, coming back into our fold and squeezing into line.
“You see him?” asks Troy, moving so that he’s within an inch of me and following my gaze across the crowded terminal. “Point him out.”
“I...I...”
Where the heck did he go?
“He was just there!”
“Where? Over there? Or over there?” Troy puts his arm in line with mine and tries to follow where I’m pointing.
“Over there!” I reply, jumping up and down.
“For heaven’s sake, calm down, Sarah,” says Uncle Marty, gripping my arm.
“Uncle Marty! That man is evil! I’m telling you!”
“What man? There are a thousand men in here, Sarah!”
“Well, he was over there...” I feel the energy drain from me as I search the sea of faces for the man once more. “I don’t know where he is now...whatever...”
The line moves forwards and Uncle Marty hands the flight attendant our tickets. The little TV on the wall behind her says “Brest” and gives the details of our plane and flight time.
“How about we just agree to enjoy our time here in France and we forget about some creepy guy from the plane? Does that work for you?”
Uncle Marty smiles at the flight attendant as she hands back our ticket stubs and passports. “Thanks.”
“I guess...”
“I think it’s probably the best way to go.”
I shrug, glancing at Troy for some support. But he’s texting on his phone and I get nothing from him.
“Alright. Whatever. Let’s just enjoy our time in France,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Sarah, lose the attitude please.”
I roll my eyes.
“And don’t roll your eyes like that. That’s very rude.”
“Oh my god, Uncle Marty. I can’t do anything.”
He stares at me as we walk through the tunnel thingy that connects the terminal to the plane. “No, it’s not that you can’t do anything. It’s that you can’t be rude. There’s a big difference.”
“But I’m not being rude! Some creepy guy keeps staring at me! As my uncle I think you should be defending me, not saying I’m being rude!”
He’s quiet now as we march through the tunnel.
“If you see him again, Sarah, tell me,” says Josh. “I’ll let him know who he’s messing with.”
“Pshhhh, he’s like two times the size of you.”
Josh narrows his eyes at me. “So?”
“So? So, he’ll kick your ass.”
“He won’t kick my ass,” Josh snaps, growing angry.
“Children, please.”
“Uncle Marty, stop calling us children!”
“Sarah, I’ll keep calling you two children so long as you two keep bickering and arguing like children!”
We reach the door of the plane and step inside. A flight attendant wearing a cute little blue French cap and a matching blue bandana tied around her pretty neck smiles and welcomes us aboard.
“Bienvenue.”
Troy gives her a flirtatious nod and a smile. “Merci.”
Great, here we go again.