Blue Sludge Blues & Other Abominations

by Shannon Lawrence

  This time there could be no doubt. Delilah was looking directly at her, and the face was still a blur. They stared at each other this way, still as statues, until a man walked between them. Delilah blinked. And before her stood the woman, eyes so dark they were black, blood red lipstick on full lips that smiled, but only slightly.

  Delilah leapt up from her seat and stepped toward the woman, who only watched, face unchanging.

  “What is your problem?” Delilah asked, moving into her space.

  The woman didn’t answer, only looked back at her. This time when the woman cocked her head to the side, it felt sarcastic, one of her eyebrows quirking up just so, which only served to aggravate Delilah more.

  “I’m asking you a question,” she hissed, voice low as she tried to avoid making more of a scene. People around them were looking, faces open in curiosity. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

  There was still no answer, and Delilah stood there a moment longer, hands fisted at her sides. She let out a frustrated breath and turned away to grab her things. As she picked them up, she turned once more to the woman and said, “Leave me alone or I will go to security.”

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Delilah drained the last of her wine and set the glass on the shiny black counter. It had to be about boarding time now. She’d relaxed in the bar with no further issues, but she had to get back to the boarding area.

  She picked up her bag and grabbed the handle of her suitcase, walking quickly, her heels tap-tapping along the hardwood floor of the bar until she reached the carpeting, which muffled her steps and the sound of the suitcase wheels.

  There was no sign of the woman in red in the boarding area, and Delilah slipped into the growing line. The flight attendant took her boarding pass and slid it through a machine, handing it back. The gangway was cold as she stepped through the door, and Delilah walked down the slope, cool air slipping inside her coat.

  At the bottom of the gangway, she ran into the back of the line again, and they stood there, shuffling their feet in the cold, more people piling up behind her. The man in front of her wore a navy blue suit jacket with tan pants. A white thread stuck to the back of the blazer, and it gnawed at Delilah. She looked down to study her boarding pass, avoiding looking at him, but she could see the thread out of the corner of her eye. Finally, she reached forward and gently pinched the thread between her fingers, pulling it off the soft material. He turned to look at her, and she mumbled, “Sorry, there was a thread.” She held it up, proof that she didn’t just poke random strangers. His eyebrows gathered above the bridge of his nose in a puzzled look, but he turned forward and didn’t look back at her again, which was good enough for her.

  Finally through the door, she put her suitcase in the overhead bin and stuffed the bag under the seat in front of her, settling into the aisle seat. The other two seats to her right were empty, so she knew she’d be standing back up to let her neighbors through. She drummed her fingers on the cool metal armrest and waited.

  As soon as her seat mates, a middle aged man in a polo shirt and khakis and a man in his twenties wearing jeans and a cocky smirk, were settled next to her, she buckled her seatbelt and leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes. She felt it when someone sat in the seat in front of her, as the cushion pressed back into her knees, but she didn’t open her eyes. People continued to bustle past her, clicks sounding around the cabin as overhead compartments were closed. A flight attendant walked past, steady professional pomp, pomp, pomp as her sensibly heeled shoes met the thin carpeting. Delilah half listened as she spoke quietly to people, helping them stow their items and find their seats. Voices mumbled around her in a steady rumble. The gentle scent of the middle aged man’s cologne wafted into her nose then receded, exposing her sinuses to the odd canned-air scent of the plane.

  ***

  The ding of the seatbelt sign ripped Delilah out of her doze. She sat up, checked her seatbelt, and rubbed her eye with a knuckle. When she looked over, the middle aged man gave her a gentle smile and looked down at the glossy trifold in his hands. She grabbed her own from the seatback in front of her and looked up at the flight attendant who stood in the aisle ahead. She could only see the flight attendant from the eyes up, as the person in front of her wore a high bun that stuck up above the seat, so she leaned over into the aisle and watched her giving instructions on exiting the plane, fastening seatbelts, pulling down gas masks, and using seats as flotation devices. When the flight attendant finished, Delilah realized she hadn’t heard a word. Ah well, would she really have remembered all that information in the middle of a plane crash?

  “Flown before, I take it?” The middle aged man looked at her with an amused expression on his face, mouth quirked into a half smile.

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I always know a first time flyer by the way they listen intently to the instructions and follow them with a finger on the pamphlet. It didn’t look like you were actually listening.”

  Delilah laughed and said, “You caught me. . .?” She paused and raised her eyebrows.

  “John.”

  “You caught me, John. Fly a lot?”

  He nodded and stuffed his trifold into the seatback in front of him. Delilah did the same, and they settled back to await takeoff. The flight attendants moved to somewhere behind them, and it was only a few minutes before the airplane jerked to a start, reversing slowly.

  It seemed to take forever to get to the runway, and then again for the plane to start forward. Then engines roared, and she was pressed back into her seat. John offered her a stick of gum, and she took it with a smile, unwrapping it and sticking it into her mouth as they lifted off. It felt like her stomach was lifting up into her chest, and then they were leveling off, white drifts of cottony clouds moving past the little oval windows.

  Static broke out over the intercom, preceding the captain’s voice. “We are now at a cruising altitude of 35,000 feet. You are welcome to remove your seatbelts and move around the cabin, but we recommend staying in your seat with your seatbelts buckled unless you need to use the restroom. Skies are clear ahead of us, and we should be landing in Atlanta at 10 PM Eastern Time.”

  Despite the recommendation, the rampant click of seatbelts being removed rang throughout the cabin. Immediately, a man two rows up, on the other side of the aisle, stood up and stretched, stepping into the aisle and looking around. Delilah shook her head and leaned forward to mess with the buttons beside the small screen in the seat ahead of her to get a movie started. Earphones plugged in, she didn’t stir until a flight attendant—her nametag declared her as Suzette—arrived with the drink cart.

  Plastic cup and cellophane packet of pretzels in hand, Delilah watched as Suzette moved up to the seat in front of her. The bun moved as the woman wearing it looked up at the cheerful blond flight attendant. A hand with cherry red nail polish reached over and touched Suzette’s arm, and her face blurred, the features disappearing into a flesh colored void. The blond hair framing where her face should be turned in Delilah’s direction.

  Delilah gasped and pressed back into her seat, hands grasping the armrests. When she blinked to clear her eyes, Suzette was back to normal, moving up to the next row of seats, and the bun was back in its upright position.

  “Are you all right?” John placed a gentle hand on hers, covering the whitened knuckles that strained against her skin.

  “Yes, I’m okay. I wasn’t feeling great all of a sudden, but it passed. Maybe I’m just hungry.”

  “Well, I hope you brought a snack of your own. Cheapskate airlines don’t provide meals anymore unless you’re flying a crazy number of hours.” He shook his head and took a drink of his coffee.

  “Maybe these will fill me up.” She held up the packet of pretzels, earning a polite laugh from him.

  She turned the volume up on her movie, drinking her juice and munching on the seven pretzels she’d fished out of the packet. Her eyes kept darting to the flight attendant as she made he
r way down the aisle, but her face didn’t change again, and Delilah relaxed, working out the plans for her arrival in Atlanta. She still had a ways to go once she landed; a two hour drive in a rental car would get her to her sister’s place. By then, she’d be ready to fall into a nice, clean bed for a bit of sleep.

  The light began to dim outside, pink touching the sky. Delilah took her headphones off and removed her seatbelt, slipping out of her seat. She looked around for the bathroom, saw the closest was behind her, and walked toward it. As she reached for the handle, she noticed the red “OCCUPIED” sign and leaned back against the opposite wall to wait.

  Her gaze drifted past the curtains in the hallway next to her, and she saw Suzette talking to another flight attendant. As if they sensed her eyes on them, they froze, both turning their heads at the same time to face her. Their faces were gone. A staticky sound filled her ears, building in volume until she slapped her hands over them, bending forward, eyes squeezed shut against the building pressure in her head.

  A hand gripped her arm, and she looked up, ripping her arm away. An older woman leaned over her, concern on her face. “Are you okay?”

  The static faded, and when Delilah looked past the curtains again, the flight attendants were busy at work, only the backs of their heads visible. One turned, saw her, and smiled, her features perfectly normal.

  Delilah looked back at the kind woman and forced a smile. “I’m just not feeling well. Thank you.”

  With one last appraising squint, the woman returned her smile and went back to her seat. Delilah slipped into the now empty bathroom and pulled the door shut, clicking the lock into the red. She ran cold water and splashed it onto her face, wincing as it dripped onto her shirt. Her eyes were bloodshot when she looked in the scratched mirror, the red accentuating the blue of her irises.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Just a moment,” she called.

  She used the toilet, washed her hands, and slid out the door, squeezing past the large man waiting there for the bathroom. He glared at her as if she’d been in there for hours, and shoved himself through the tiny opening.

  Back in her seat, Delilah buckled her seatbelt, but couldn’t relax. She watched the flight attendants, waiting for the change to come over their faces again. She wouldn’t let down her guard again.

  The second flight attendant, a brunette by the name of Carol, walked along the aisle, running her hand over the seats and shoulders of the people she passed. When she got to the front of coach class, she turned around, eyes going directly to Delilah’s. As one, the passengers in those aisle seats turned toward her, their faces missing.

  The static filled her ears again, the pressure intense. Her head was splitting in half, she knew it.

  She covered her ears, afraid to look away from the other passengers. They stared back at her, a wave of flesh-colored nothing.

  Something touched her arm, and she turned to look at John. His face was missing, too, and he drew nearer.

  Scrabbling at her seatbelt, she ripped it off and stood up, stumbling into the aisle. The faces were still blurs, Carol now approaching her from the front. She turned to run, saw that all the faces behind her were blurred, as well, and Suzette stood in front of the curtains.

  The pain was too much, and she sunk onto her knees, the roughness of the carpeting scratching at her bare flesh. Falling forward, she put her head down, felt the carpet’s stubble, cool against her forehead. The static overflowed her head, moving into the rest of her body. It felt as if her heart stuttered as it pounded, like the rhythm was all over the place, fighting to rip out of her chest as soon as an exit presented itself.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to take your seat. The captain has activated the seatbelt sign.”

  A different flight attendant stood over her, her shoes directly in front of Delilah’s face. Delilah could see a white thread on the dark material of the shoe, but this time she had absolutely no urge to pluck it off. She didn’t want to be anywhere near this thing masquerading as a flight attendant. Of course, she had a face now, but give it a few minutes and it would be gone, just like with the others.

  “Ma’am, did you hear me?”

  Delilah nodded and stood up, straightening her skirt. The other flight attendants were nowhere to be seen, and the faces around her had returned back to normal. Some were puzzled, some irritated. Some whispered to those nearest them. Others avoided her eyes and stayed silent. She looked at each in turn, hoping to see recognition in someone’s face that there was a problem. Hoping someone on this plane remained untouched by whatever was happening.

  She slid into her seat and waited until the flight attendant walked away. Where had the others gone?

  When ten minutes had passed without a flight attendant returning, she stood up and walked to the curtains separating coach class from business. Shifting one slightly to the side, she peeked through, taking in the neat rows of large leather seats. There were no flight attendants here, either, so she stepped through the curtains and approached the ones leading to first class. No one turned to look at her as she stepped along the short aisle. No one spoke. Maybe they had better movie choices up here.

  When she reached the curtains, she put a hand against one and paused, listening. Just as with business class, no sound came from first class. Pressure built in her head as she stood there, her ears popping as static filled them.

  They had to be on the other side.

  The curtain felt soft against her skin. Too soft, the kind that stuck to dry skin. She wiped her palm down the front of her skirt to erase the sensation then placed her hand back on the curtain, bracing herself.

  This time, when she shifted the curtain, there was someone there. Suzette stood directly on the other side, not a blonde hair out of place. She would have looked impeccable if she’d had a face.

  The static grew, pulsated, and Delilah felt something wet slide down over her upper lip. She reached up to touch the moisture and her fingers came away red. Tears slid from her eyes and the pressure in her head increased. Carol and the third flight attendant stepped up behind her, faces just as blurred as their compatriot’s. Suzette reached for her, grabbed her by the meat of her upper arm, fingers digging into the flesh. Delilah tried to pull away, but the grip was like steel.

  When she turned to ask for help, she found a sea of blurred faces behind her. They were standing now, still as statues, and she wondered when they’d moved. She hadn’t heard a thing.

  Suzette pulled her through the curtain then shoved her between the other two flight attendants. Delilah stumbled, righting herself only by grabbing one of the aisle seats. A cold hand covered hers, and she jerked her hand away, backing up into the cockpit door. She watched as they moved into the center aisle, not making a sound. A wave of faceless automatons. She pressed back into the door, grasped for the handle behind her.

  It was locked.

  She turned, felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, her spine crawling as she waited for one of them to touch her. Pounding on the door, she screamed for help. “Please, let me in!”

  And then the hands were there, grasping at her back, clawing at her. They were ice cold, more than she could count. They pulled her down, stifled her.

  Something clicked behind her, and she bent her head backward, saw the upside down figure of a man in a pilot’s uniform. White shirt, tie, jaunty hat.

  Beneath the hat, there was no face.

  As one set of hands found her throat, she heard the engines choke, stumble.

  She felt a sense of weightlessness before everything went grey. The hands released her before she could pass all the way out, and she was dragged over to a nearby seat and plunked into it, the belt fastened across her waist. Oxygen masks hung from the ceiling, just above her head, which throbbed mercilessly.

  "Why are you doing this," she asked the crew, now gathered before her.

  The pilot turned his head sideways, like the woman in red had earlier. "Why are you fighting this?"
r />   "Fighting what? You? There's something wrong with you, all of you."

  Each stewardess turned her head sideways in a reflection of their pilot.

  "We are not the ones who are unnatural," said Suzette.

  Beyond their voices, the engines screamed. She felt light, floaty. They stood there, unperturbed by the sinking of the plane. Delilah kept expecting the collision with the ground. It seemed like it had been falling forever.

  The cockpit door drifted open. Inside, a man Delilah figured must be the co-pilot was hunched over the controls. His body leaned at an unnatural angle, arms bent between the elbow and wrist, legs hinged backward. When he turned toward her, he had no face. He tore at the controls, sparks flying, wires everywhere.

  It was black outside, but a sprinkling of lights showed through the cockpit windshield. The door slammed shut.

  They were still standing there. She stared at the door until they shifted to block it, a wall of soulless bodies.

  The pitch of the engines' screams changed. Blood trickled down from her nose again, and static joined the screams.

  Delilah closed her eyes, and wished she knew how to stop fighting.

  For Love of the Hunt

  When footsteps whispered in the sand outside, I arranged myself in the bamboo chair with a creak. A soft rap at the rickety wooden door came next, and after shifting my body just so, I called out in a voice that sounded weak and raspy to my ear, "Come in!"

  The pre-teen boy entered. Browned by the sun and wearing ragged shorts and a tank top, he moved with an animal grace, all lithe limbs and agility. With him came the briny, fishy scent of the ocean, the sound of waves crashing just a short distance from my porch. I felt a loss when he closed the door, though the powerful sea still sounded through the pathetic walls of my shack, albeit lessened, quelled. He carried a steaming bowl of rice and a folded newspaper. I reached out and took the paper as he set the rice on the table beside me. A faint smile played across my lips, though I’d intended to hold it back. A familiar dance was afoot, but this would be the final round.