Six months later.
The lobotomy had been successful. Although rarely performed anymore, in the case of Jasper Collins, it was seen as a necessary step. The procedure hadn’t gone as expected, however, Jasper didn’t care. He was happy in his room. The window was small and high up on the wall so that he couldn’t see out of it. It was also dark, and moonlight spread across the wall, making a projection of the bars that covered the window. He sat in the corner, knees tucked under his chin, wiry arms hooked around them. He was still the same on the inside, but he couldn’t outwardly articulate. He was a prisoner within a prisoner.
Ronson had pushed for the surgery, and although for a time he hadn’t known why he thought he knew now. Of course, now it was too late, because although the thoughts were sharp in his mind, the procedure had meant that he couldn’t articulate them even if he wanted to. He heard a sound, and his heart rate increased. He cast his eyes to the window and saw it, the silhouette blown up to giant proportions on the wall. The crow walked back and forth at the window and then stopped to look in at him. He met its gaze, and for a moment, the thick soup that had replaced his brain cleared. He heard a voice, Ronson's voice, clear and sharp. It said just seven words, but they were enough to confirm his suspicions. Jasper smiled, and closed his eyes, the fight long since having left him.
The silhouette on the wall took flight and he was again alone. He knew he would never be able to leave. Because the crows wouldn’t allow it. He thought of his brothers, his mother and his father during happier times when they were still alive, but his mind kept going back to those seven words uttered by the crow. He didn’t think he would hear from them again. He was sure that now that they were satisfied that he had been silenced. After all, wasn’t that the entire point?
Seven words.
Enough to make sense of the whole mess. Jasper covered his ears and rocked back and forth just a little harder as those words bounced around in his broken brain. It was his error because he didn’t think that Ronson counted. After all, he was a doctor. How could he have known it was a test?
Either way, it was too late now. He had done it and he would have to live with it. He wondered if the crow’s presence meant that something bad was going to happen, or if it was just a final goodbye, a gloating show of victory.
Those seven words spun around his head.
You shouldn’t have told anyone about us.
And they were right, Jasper thought as he bit into his wrists, tearing through veins and sinewy flesh. He sat there, bloody-mouthed and smiling as he bled out onto the padded white floor, which greedily soaked up the precious fluid. He was smiling. At last, it was over. At last, there was silence.
SEAT 6A
CINDY STIFLED A yawn as she looked at the expanse of empty seats on American airlines flight 444. The idea of another long flight filled with whiny passengers who thought it was acceptable to talk to her like something they had stepped in filled her with dread. Although she had worked her way up to the position of head flight attendant, she was jaded with the lifestyle and was desperate for a break, to do something different with her life. This flight would be her three hundredth, and she was thankful that the most drama she had ever encountered was a mid-flight water break of a heavily pregnant passenger, where she along with the other attendants had been forced to deliver the baby as they flew over the Pacific. It was always in the back of her mind that one day something worse might happen. A hijacking or a passenger becoming violent, but she tried not to think about it too much. She had just turned thirty-five and still considered herself in decent shape. Slim with hazel eyes and brown hair, she had strong cheekbones and a kind smile which endeared people to her. She walked to the open rear door of the jet, breathing in the cool, crisp Chicago air. It was a little after six in the morning and there was a small smudge of orange just beginning to creep over the horizon line. Apart from a few small patches of cloud, it looked like it was going to be another scorcher of a day. Unable to put off the unpleasant task to come any longer, she made her way through the aircraft towards the cockpit. Pausing for a moment outside the door to compose herself, she knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. She was just about able to hide her grimace as she locked eyes with the pilot, Captain James Henshaw. He was relaxing, sipping a Starbucks as he went through his pre-flight checklist. He gave her a quick, greedy once over then turned his attention back to his paperwork. Although he had always prided himself on looking his best, Cindy could see the cracks starting to form as age started to win out over his attempts to cheat it, which pleased her immensely. His cheeks had begun to sag, giving him a bulldog-like appearance. His eyes were developing crow’s feet at the edges and had great dark rims underneath from either too little sleep or too much drink when off duty. Combined with his paunch which strained at his pristine white shirt, Cindy wondered how he had ever managed to talk her into bed in the first place.
“Good morning, Cindy,” He muttered, keeping his eyes down.
His voice was smooth, the words rolling with slick assurance from his tongue.
She held the clipboard she’d brought with her towards him. “Here’s the flight manifest.”
Henshaw turned to face her. “How many on board?”
She felt a flush of anger, hating the fact that he could so easily stir up a reaction in her. She glanced at the manifest still clutched in his right hand, and then back to him and his smug blue gaze nestled underneath ugly salt and pepper eyebrows. She thought he wouldn’t look out of place in one of those over-dubbed hair dye commercials for middle-aged men desperately trying to cling to their youth. Stifling the urge to laugh at the mental image, she decided to just answer his question and waste as little time as possible in his presence.
“All full apart from two seats. Cancellations.”
“Very good,” he nodded, waving away the unread manifest.
Screw this, she thought. He won’t beat me this time.
“Any adverse weather for the trip, Captain?” She said as confidently as she could, making sure to push her chest out to show the arrogant captain what he couldn’t have anymore.
“Clear all the way as far as we can see. It’s gonna be another hot one today.” He replied, taking an opportunity to let his eyes linger over the front of her blouse. “So,” he said, smiling in what she knew was his best flirtatious way. “What’s on the menu today?”
He raised one eyebrow as he waited for an answer, the innuendo impossible to miss.
Somehow, she managed to stifle the urge to punch him in the face. “Either fish, roast beef or lasagne, sir.”
She was pleased with the way that his guard dropped momentarily to show his frustration at her rebuttal. Like a switch being flicked, Henshaw realized he wasn’t going to get anything from her, and reverted back to the smooth pilot voice. “Put me down for fish.”
She nodded, writing on her notepad and adding a doodle of an angry faced woman tearing her hair out by Henshaw’s name.
“And the co-pilot and navigator, sir?” she said, not missing a beat, her face neutral as she waited, pen poised over her pad.
“You’ll have to come back and ask them,” he snapped, still sore at her resistance to his attempts to flirt. “They should be here within the half hour.”
“Very good, Captain,” She said, spinning on her heel and walking away, able to feel his eyes crawling all over her. Just for good measure, she made sure to wiggle her ass as best she could as she left to remind him again of what he couldn’t have anymore.
Twenty minutes later she had calmed enough to forget about Henshaw, and was pleased to have something to distract her as the rest of the flight crew were starting to arrive, faces she knew well, and one, in particular, she always looked forward to seeing.
“Hi, Hun, how you been doin’?”
“I’m good Sylvia, how are you?” Cindy replied, hugging the smiling woman warmly.
Sylvia Hosier was African-American, with one of the broadest New York accents you could ever hope
to hear. Her eyes were warm and friendly, her skin the colour of rich coffee and despite having a good few years on Henshaw, unlike the captain hers was both worry and line free.
“I didn’t know you were doing this run now,” Cindy said, genuinely happy to see her friend.”
“I’m filling in, you just lost someone to maternity leave haven’t you?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know they’d be sending someone as experienced as you.”
Sylvia smiled. “I don’t know quite how to take that honey.”
“Oh god no, I’m thrilled you’re here. It’s amazing to see you again.” Cindy replied, hugging her friend for a second time.
As they separated, Sylvia held on to Cindy’s arms, keeping her at arm’s length. “I heard about you and Robin, I’m so sorry. I thought you two were solid.”
Cindy shrugged and tried her best to smile through the pain. To anyone else she would have lied, told them she was fine, but not Sylvia. She would know.
“It had been coming for a while, Sylvia. It wasn’t his fault, I was responsible for it all.”
“don’t you go beating yourself up about it, do ya’ hear? You have to move on.”
“I’m doing my best. That’s all I can do.”
“Well, if it helps, you look great, hon. Really great.”
Cindy smiled, feeling awkward but grateful. “Thanks, I’ve been trying to keep myself healthy. I let myself go a little after the divorce.”
Sensing her friend’s embarrassment, Sylvia changed the subject. “Anything specific I should know for the flight?”
Glad for the not so subtle subject change, Cindy picked up her notes. “No. By all accounts, it should be a straightforward trip. All full bar two.”
Sylvia took the flight manifest from Cindy, scanning over it.
“Damn girl! You never said horny Henshaw was captain.”
Cindy laughed, grateful for her friend’s effortless ability to lighten the mood.
“It’s okay; I dealt with it, Sylvia. He’s an asshole. I’m not letting him get to me.”
“Did you take the cockpit crew meal order?”
Cindy nodded. “Partly, but he started trying to get a reaction, so I left.”
Sylvia sucked air through her teeth. “That son of a bitch. How he kept his job is beyond me. Then to try and put the blame on you…” She put a hand on Cindy’s shoulder, directing her towards the coffee counter in the galley. “Tell you what, you leave it to me. I’ll head up there and take the rest of the order; you go ahead and make us a coffee then we can have a catch up before we start boarding.”
Unable to hide her relief at not having to deal anymore with Henshaw, she smiled. “Thanks, I owe you one.”
Sylvia returned the gesture, a sea of white against her dark skin. “Hell, you do girl. Now go on, you make that coffee.”
Within the hour, they were ready to start boarding. As expected, it was already getting hot, the sun now beating down without mercy on the runway. Sylvia was standing by the front hatch waiting to greet the passengers as Cindy busied herself making last minute checks in the galley. The passengers were starting to filter on, each doing the same subconscious thing that each and every one of them did. They would look around the plane, scrutinizing it, checking where the exits were, and looking at the roof and the windows as if they could see any flaws that might cause any potential problems. Some, of course, hid it better than others, but even the confident ones still had that underlying tension that came as part and parcel of air travel. She slipped effortlessly into her role, smiling broadly at the passengers as she passed them, pausing to reassure, guide them to their seats, sharing jokes which she had heard a hundred times before, helping to ease worries and distract people from ideas about a mid-air wiring fire or faulty rivet that could potentially cost them all their lives.
She heard a commotion from the front and looked up to see a group of seven or eight football jocks, joking and laughing as they jostled each other. Cindy squeezed to one side, allowing them room as she endured the usual chorus of wolf whistles and smart comments.
“Take it, easy guys, it’s a long flight,” she said, finding a little of their exuberance rubbing off on her.
“You hear that goof, she meant you, and she’s going to spank your ass,” one of the jocks said, and they all laughed as if the comment by their blonde-haired buddy was the funniest thing they had ever heard. Ushering them into their seats, she turned, bumping into another passenger and dropping her clipboard on the floor.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, crouching down and gathering her papers together, which had come loose from the board. She tried to ignore the jeers and whistles from the jocks, suddenly wishing she were somewhere else. She glanced at the passenger’s feet; the leather shoes looked expensive, possibly Italian. She spoke as she stood, finding herself unusually flustered.
“Let me show you to your seat, then I’ll get you a...”
The word she meant to say was ‘drink’, however, it never made it past her throat. As she stood, she took in his jeans, stone washed, again a perfect and stylish match to the Italian shoes. The jacket was black leather, complimented by a white shirt, top buttons open to show a bronzed wedge of chest. She looked at his face, his smooth Mediterranean complexion, the jet black hair brushed backwards away from his face to rest on the nape of the neck. All of those details were ones she hardly took in. All she could look at were his eyes.
His eyes were black.
She was lost for words and hoped that her face didn’t betray the terror, which filled her. He smiled, a gesture that normally she would return. The ability to do so was beyond her. All she could see were his eyes, which were reflective pools of black which seemed to have no end. He moved away from her, breaking the eye contact as he moved to his seat, taking off his jacket, and setting himself down. Her instinct told her to get as far away from this man as she could. The rest of her, the more rational side, argued that there might be a perfectly normal explanation for his appearance, maybe a medical condition that affected his eyesight.
Her legs felt weak; her stomach vaulted and rolled. Fearing she was about to throw up, Cindy made her way towards the back of the plane and the galley. She had to force herself not to run. The last thing she needed right now was a cabin full of uneasy passengers. Once sbehind the curtain and out of view, she leaned on the stainless steel counter, head down as she tried to compose herself. The feeling was similar to vertigo, a dizzy, disorientating sense of fear. fearing she was about to collapse, she sat in one of the seats reserved for the crew, staring at the beige carpet between her feet and trying to pull herself together. She wasn’t alone for long, as the Sylvia appeared, sweeping the divider curtain aside.
“I saw you come down here lookin’ close to tears, Hon. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Cindy couldn’t answer. It was as if staring into those black eyes had drained the life and energy from her.
“That man,” was all she could manage to say, her voice fading away to a whisper.
Frowning, Sylvia glanced around the small galley area. “What man? Honey, you’re not making sense.”
“The man in 6A.” Was all she could force out before another wave of nausea swept over her. She was aware that she sounded crazy, and was thankful that it was Sylvia who was with her and not one of the junior crew members.
“6A? What did he do, do we need to call security?”
Cindy shook her head. “He didn’t do anything, He’s just….” She slumped back in the seat, unable to finish the thought. She started to cry, unsure why and hating how weak she must look.
The curtain swept aside again as David, one of the new trainee cabin crew strode confidently towards them.
“Okay, everything’s ready to go,” He started with a grin, then seeing the mess Cindy was in, grew serious. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Sylvia looked at David, his awkward, gangly frame hovering in the doorway.
“Its okay, David, honey, Cindy just had
a funny turn.”
He nodded, his green eyes drifting from Sylvia to Cindy and back again. “Look, sorry to disturb, but we’re ready to lock down. Everyone is on board and we’re good to go.” He shifted his weight, desperate to be let off the hook so he could leave.
Sylvia nodded, taking over the role that was usually Cindy’s without drama. “David, can you do me a favour?”
He nodded, folding his arms across his wiry frame. “Sure, what do you need?”
Trying to sound casual as possible, Sylvia continued. “Take a walk up towards the front, and look at the passenger in 6A, but be subtle, don’t go gawping at him or anything.”
“Why, what’s wrong, is there a problem?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, just please go up there and take a look, then come straight back here. And tell me what you see.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Just go take a look then come back, okay?
He nodded, “whatever you say, I’m just saying it would help to know what I’m looking for, though.”
“You’re not looking for anything in particular. Just remember to be discreet.”
He nodded and left, leaving the two women alone. Sylvia stood and made coffee, her friend content to remain wordless and stare at the carpet.
“So what happened?” Sylvia asked as she prepared the drinks.
“That man in 6A...there’s something wrong with him.”
Sylvia handed Cindy the coffee, then sat opposite and cradled her own cup as she looked at her friend.
“What in the lord’s name spooked you, honey?” she said, placing a reassuring hand on her friend’s leg.
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