by Cross, Amy
“I'd rather face a small punishment for making this recording,” he replied, “than have you threaten me and get away with theft. Out of respect for your two small children, Suzie, I won't go to the police regarding this matter. I will also not be providing you with a reference, nor will I be changing my mind, so please leave your passes and other store items on the table and leave immediately. If you refuse, I'll have no choice but to get other people involved.”
“You can't do this to me,” she replied, as fresh tears began to well in her eyes. “Please, Dave, can't we come to some sort of -”
“Now, will you be leaving quietly,” he added, interrupting her, “or should I call Carl and Tariq from security and have them escort you off the premises in handcuffs? It's your choice.”
***
“It was awful,” he said a short while later, as he finished cutting through Suzie's employee identification badge, the remains of which he dropped into the bin next to his desk. “I just feel sorry for her children. I hope they have proper support in their home life.”
“You had to fire her, honey,” his wife replied over the phone. “She was stealing.”
“I know.”
Turning back to his laptop, he brought up a folder containing various files that he'd recovered from the camera in the stockroom.
“I never realized I could be so wrong about a person,” he added, as he dragged the files into another folder. “I'm going to keep all the evidence I've gathered, just in case she gets desperate and tries to pull some kind of stunt later down the line. She's far more devious than I'd ever expected.”
“I'm sure she'll be too busy screwing over her next employer.”
“That doesn't make me feel any better,” he muttered, closing the laptop's lid. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to burden you with my problems. I should head back out there. I might be an hour or two late getting home tonight. I need to double-check a few things in the stockroom, just so I'm certain I'm on top of things. If Suzie was stealing from the store, maybe others could do the same thing. I'm starting to think that maybe I'm not a very good judge of people after all.”
“You mustn't think like that. Don't get cynical.”
He hesitated for a moment. “I know. I'm sorry. You're right.”
Once the call was over, he got to his feet and headed over to the door, although he hesitated for a moment to check that his shirt was straight and un-creased, and that his tie was still properly knotted. Peering into the small mirror on the wall, he adjusted his hair and then he took a long, deep breath, as if to center himself a little before returning to the fray. Finally, he opened the door and stepped out onto the brightly-lit, incredibly noisy shop-floor of the Hexley Airport duty free perfume department. To his surprise, the first thing he saw was a young boy being carried away on a stretcher, shouting about a woman who was apparently coming for him.
***
“I was gonna put in for a transfer to the night shift,” Carl muttered as he slumped down in a chair in the security office. “Those bastards have it easy.”
“They just put a new hire on,” Joe replied, sorting through the teabags and then selecting one of the Yorkshire bags. “Some girl.”
“So why'd she get the cushy job?” Carl asked.
“Beats me. The way I heard it, old Tom Whatshisname was very insistent. Said he wanted a new hire, someone he could train up. That guy's a weirdo, if you ask me. Probably wants to get her on a chair, changing a bulb, so he can look up her skirt. Well, he would if they still worse skirts.” He sniffed the teabag. “Good taste in tea, though,” he added, grabbing a handful of bags from the tray and stuffing them into his backpack. “He won't notice if I take a few.”
As the pair of them continued to mutter and complain, they remained completely oblivious of a figure standing behind them, watching the backs of their heads from the corner of the room. Dressed in oily rags and dripping clear fluid that had drenched the fabric of her dress, the woman was staring at the two men with dark, dead eyes. A thick wound covered one side of her forehead, where her skull had been cracked against the back of an airline seat.
***
“Goodnight, Dave!” one of the perfume store's floor-workers called out as she wandered out across the parking lot with a colleague. “See you tomorrow, Dave!”
“We love you, Dave!” the other worker added, and they both began giggling.
“Goodnight!” David called after them, before turning and heading over to his car. Checking his watch, he saw that it was 8.45pm, which meant he'd been at work for a little over thirteen hours. After firing Suzie, he'd spent most of the day in the stockroom, going over every item to make sure that there was nothing else missing. He'd already phoned his wife and told her he'd miss dinner, and now he walked to his car with the exhausted, sloping gait of a man who desperately needed to get home.
Reaching into his pocket, he was about to take out his phone when he stopped dead in his tracks.
Ahead, his car was waiting in the parking bay, exactly where he'd left it at the start of the day. Except now, someone had scratched the word 'wanker' into the side in big letters that filled both doors on one side. There was also something dark smeared across the rear window, and as David finally stepped closer he saw that more words had been scratched all over the bonnet.
“Well, that's just wonderful,” he muttered, making his way around the car and inspecting the litany of c-words, t-words and assorted other insults that had been scratched into the car's paintwork. Reaching the driver's side door, he saw that a thick wad of chewing gum had been pressed into the lock. “Thank you, Suzie,” he added under his breath. “Thank you so very much.”
Finding that all the locks on the doors had been gummed, he headed to the back of the car and saw that at least the trunk had been left undamaged. Once that was unlocked, he slid his briefcase and laptop bag into the car and then climbed after them, scrambling over the back seats and finally slumping down. Letting out a faint sigh, he crawled between the front seats and finally managed to maneuver himself into the driver's seat, where he leaned back and closed his eyes, searching for a moment of peace in a day that had so far delivered nothing but frustration.
“Peace,” he said out loud. “Calm. Self.”
Finally, he set his phone into the holder on the dashboard and tapped to bring up the music player, and a moment later the car was filled with the sound of Hayden's 94th symphony. For the next few minutes, David sat with his eyes once again closed, simply enjoying the music as he tried to resettle his thoughts. Gradually, as the music washed over him and his brow became less furrowed, his hands began to twitch, as if he was imagining himself conducting the orchestra. It took a while, but slowly a very faint smile crossed his lips, and the music swelled until eventually David opened his eyes and started the car's engine.
Revitalized and ready to face the world again, he backed the car out of its bay and drove out of the parking lot, humming along with the symphony as he took the less-used road that ran around toward the south of the airport. He was tapping his fingers on the wheel now, while nodding his head in time to the music as he watched the road ahead. The stresses and strains of the day had fallen away.
And then suddenly the car began to slow, and an alarm started ringing out from the dashboard.
“What the -”
Steering the car to the side of the deserted road as it rolled to a halt, he peered at the dashboard and saw that the fuel indicator was flashing.
“That's impossible,” he muttered under his breath. “I put a full tank in this morning.”
The engine spluttered and died, leaving him sitting in silence. He turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened, and then he opened the door and stepped out of the car. Crouching down, he peered underneath, where a neatly-cut section of the fuel line was hanging from against the road.
“Suzie,” he said with a sigh. “Well, thank you again, you little...”
His voice trailed off for a moment.
Getting to his feet, he grabbed his phone and brought up his wife's number.
“I'm going to be late,” he explained as soon as she answered. “Remember the girl I had to fire earlier? It seems she's taken her revenge out on Bertha.”
“On the car?” she replied. “What did she do?”
“I'm going to have to call a tow truck,” he continued, as he felt spots of rain starting to fall. A moment later, his phone beeped and he checked the screen. “And my phone's low on battery,” he added with another sigh. “I think this is turning out to be one of those days.”
“Do you want me to run out and pick you up?” she asked. “Alice and I could do with a drive.”
“It's too far. Don't worry, I'll just call the garage and have them collect me.”
“If you're sure.”
“Don't expect me home any time in the next couple of hours,” he added. “I'm sorry. After the day I've had, I just wanted to curl up with you on the sofa.”
“Chin up, honey. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Cutting the call, he began to search for the garage's number. Just as he was about to call, however, his phone's screen faded to black. He tried to get it started again, to no avail.
“Seriously?” he muttered, before looking up at the darkening evening sky as more spots of rain fell down. His battery was dead, and the raindrops – as if to press home the fact that he was out of luck – were coming down faster than ever. “Great.”
He stood like this for almost a full minute, lost in silent contemplation, and then he reached into the car, grabbing his jacket. Once he'd slammed the door shut, he slipped the jacket on and shoved his hands into his pockets before setting off on the long, lonely walk back to the airport, where he'd at least be able to find a phone and call someone. He could already see the lights of the main terminal building in the distance, beyond the trees, and then after a moment he stopped as he spotted a rough, muddy path running down from the side of the road and through the forest.
“Sod it,” he said under his breath, starting to pick his way down onto the path, which would at least halve the time it'd take him to get back to the airport.
His right foot immediately squelched into a particularly deep puddle, soaking his sock and filling the shoe with cold water, but he pushed on regardless.
For the next few minutes, he tried to keep away from the worst patches of snowy mud as he headed between the trees. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the key-fob flashlight he'd been given at Christmas, which at least allowed him to light his way as he wandered between the trees. After a few more steps he stopped again, looking all around as if he was staring to think he should have stuck to the road, but eventually he got going once again, muttering under his breath as he tried to find the easiest route. Already, the legs of his trousers were splattered with mud and old snow.
“Thank you so much, Suzie,” he said out loud as he continued on his way. The flashlight meant that he could see the dark trees up ahead, although his feet were starting to sink a little further into the mud with each step. “I'm so sorry I didn't give you a glowing reference. I feel so very bad about that, I really should -”
Stopping suddenly, he spotted a dark shape up ahead, in a small clearing surrounded by old, dying trees. Even before he'd aimed the little flashlight at the shape, he knew exactly what he'd stumbled upon, and the words carved into the stone at the top sent a shiver through his chest:
IN MEMORIUM
THOSE WE LOST
IN THE HEXLEY AIRPORT DISASTER
ON THE
NINETEENTH DAY OF DECEMBER
2007
SEMBER NOBIS
Shining the flashlight down to the main part of the stone, he saw hundreds of names carved in a series of somber columns. The memorial had been placed at the spot where the plane's black box recorder had been located. There had been much discussion as to where exactly the stone should stand, but the wreckage had been strewn over such a large area, nobody had been able to reach agreement. Now, as David waded closer through the mud and took a closer look at the list of names, he seemed lost in thought. A faint flicker of pain crossed his face, and he took a moment to adjust his shirt collar.
“Briggs, Sophie,” he read out loud from the list. “Briggs, Michael. Burrows, Cynthia. Capthorne, Dennis.”
He stood in silence for a moment, before making the sign of the cross against his chest. In the distance, the lights of the terminal building still flickered, turning the nearby trees into large, dark silhouettes that rose up to form a kind of crown around the edges of the clearing. Many of the trees in this section of the forest were still damaged, albeit slowly recovering after the fiery crash ten years earlier. Further to the west, another part of the forest had been cleared entirely due to all the burning jet fuel that had taken so long to put out. The scars on the land were taking a long time to heal.
“Well,” David said finally, with a heavy sigh, “I suppose this puts my bad day into perspective, doesn't it?”
He paused a moment longer, before turning to follow the path again.
And then he stopped, as he heard a faint but persistent scratching sound coming from nearby.
Turning, he shone the flashlight all around, but there was no sign of anyone. Still, the scratching sound continued and after a moment he aimed the flashlight toward the stone monument itself. The sound was coming from the monument's other side, as if there was somebody hiding, and a moment later a brief but clear grunt cut through the silent clearing.
“Hello?” David said cautiously. “Is...”
His voice trailed off, as did the scratching sound, leaving him standing once more in silence.
“Is anyone there?” he asked.
The flashlight's beam continued to dance across the surface of the memorial stone.
“I'm sorry,” David continued, “but -”
Suddenly he stopped as the beam caught the fingers of a dirty hand on the stone's edge, as if someone was hiding on the other side. In the strong electric light of the beam, the hand appeared extremely pale, almost completely white, although there were a few dark scratches and patches of mud on the fingers.
“Who's there?” David asked.
Immediately, the hand slipped out of view.
“This is a monument to the dead!” he continued, his voice faltering slightly. “Do you have no respect? Whoever you are, you shouldn't be messing about out here!”
He waited, but now there was no response, as if the figure had vanished.
Stepping forward, David made his way around to the rear of the memorial, but there was no sign of anyone. A moment later, however, he heard a faint bump from the other side, as if somebody had run around and stayed just out of view. Opening his mouth, David was about to say something when he spotted the hand again, resting once more on the memorial stone's edge.
“I can see you, you know,” he said firmly, with a hint of irritation in his voice. “You're not funny. This stone is a memorial to the victims of a very serious and very tragic accident. It's most certainly not the kind of place where anyone should be playing games, even...”
He kept the flashlight aimed at the hand.
“Who are you?” he continued. “What are you doing here?”
After a moment, the hand began to slowly slip away, and David watched as the fingers disappeared from view.
He waited.
And then suddenly he heard footsteps, racing away. Turning, he was just in time to see a gangly male figure rushing into the darkness, wearing dark trousers and a tattered orange t-shirt.
“Who are you?” David shouted, trying to aim the flashlight at the figure.
He waited, but now he was all alone once more in the clearing.
Suddenly he flinched as he heard a loud rumbling sound filling the air from above. The ground beneath his feet began to tremble, and he shone the flashlight around as he searched for the source of the noise. As the rumble became louder and louder, however, he reached up and p
ut his hands over his ears, and finally a vast roar seemed to pass straight across the clearing, shaking the ground with such force that David stumbled and finally fell back against the mud. As he landed, another enormous jolt ran through the soil, accompanied by the sound of an explosion. The force was so loud, he felt for a moment as if his ears were about to burst.
As a distant boom rang out, David stumbled to his feet, but now he could see flames just a few hundred meters away, roaring through the forest. Frozen by the shock of such a horrific sight, he could only watch as the blaze roared higher and higher into the evening sky, and as the light from the inferno began to flicker across his face. The entire forest was lit up by the flames, which roared beyond the line of dead trees. For a few seconds, David was mesmerized by the vast, blossoming fire that rose high into the night sky. He'd seen photos of something like this before, but he'd never seen the horror with his own eyes.
“It can't be,” he stammered finally. “Not again. Not here.”
Stumbling forward, he began to hurry through the forest, heading toward the sight of the disaster. As the flames continued to roar, he could just about make out the sight of the plane's rear section, and after a moment he came to a halt as he realized the trees nearby were burning. A foul stench filled the air, as burning jet fuel and plastics created a noxious mixture that was already beginning to sting his eyes and nostrils. He could feel the heat from the fire, too, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes just a little from the vast brightness of the burning wreckage.
And then he heard the screams.
Just for a moment, above the roaring flames, he heard voices crying out.
Agonized voices.
Terrified voices.
The voices of people who were trapped and burning to death.
One of them even sounded like a child.
He could hear a series of banging sounds, too, as if people were desperately trying to force their way out of the wreckage. At the heart of the inferno, the plane's upside-down tail section was just about visible, with dark little windows running along the side. David watched in horror, just about able to make out hints of movement in the windows. After a few more seconds, however, the screams seemed to die down all at once, as if those trapped inside the burning plane had finally succumbed to the smoke and flames. The plane's windows were now just dark holes, rapidly disappearing from sight as the fire spread.