Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (15 page)

Poor
Ryan
.

The thought of Martha being dead must be torturing him. “Why did you do it? Why did you tell my husband…?”

“Interesting, don’t you think, Keri? Only through the eyes of a child are we able to see fear for what it is…completely subjective. Fear is nothing more than a fabrication in the mind. It’s not real. The greatest weapon against someone is their own mind. You see, Keri, there’s nothing to be afraid of…not even death. You live, you die, you live again; what is there to fear? Because of a few simple words spoken in a calm tone, your husband’s mind is tormenting him. With just words, Keri, that’s all.”

“You’re sick,” Keri said, “You need help.”

“Do you like to read, Keri? Do you ever read fiction? Do you ever wonder how a good novel can raise the tension in your emotions to such levels that you
feel
afraid or hopeless, just like the characters on the page? Words. That’s all they are—words referring to other words.”

“Please, I beg you, call my husband and tell him his daughter is still alive. Please! If you do, I’m sure he’ll be more likely to do what you want. I know him, and right now he can’t even think. How is he going to be able to help you if he can’t think?”

“Keri, I’ve decided to do things differently this time. No more bloody mess like with your friends, the Deans.”

Keri gasped. “I knew it! It was you!”

“Captain Dean and your husband are a lot alike, except for one thing: Captain Dean didn’t seem to be as attached to his wife as your husband is to his family. Dean didn’t respond to words like I wished he had.”

Keri’s eyes filled with tears. She tried to hold back any sound, knowing it might give Martha a reason to see the white monster as the evil man he really was. David couldn’t hear the man’s words, but she was certain he sensed the fear in her quivering body and facial expressions.

Samael called to Usman, “Is he moving yet?”

“No,” the little man said, his mouth full of chocolate chip cookies.

Samael flipped open Keri’s cell and pressed the speed dial for RYAN. With the phone against his ear, he sighed, shaking his head in disapproval while staring at Keri. “I thought your husband understood what I meant by trust. If he doesn’t believe, he won’t trust. Somehow, I need to make him a believer.”

Keri’s stomach wrenched in torment with each waiting second.

Ryan
pick
up
…
please
…
pick
up
.

* * *

8:31 p.m.

The lunatic’s words—“Your daughter is dead”—paralyzed Ryan. If he didn’t get moving, the lunatic promised to kill again. His son would be next. Then Keri. He glanced in the rearview mirror. There was still time to spill his guts to the cop.

I
can’t
.
I
need
to
keep
going
.

He checked the tripometer—36 miles to go; then the clock—8:31. With no traffic problems, he would arrive at the employee parking lot by 9:15. His scheduled departure was 10:30 p.m., but he was required to sign in one hour prior at 9:30. The shuttle bus departed the employee lot every twenty minutes for the ten-minute drive to the terminal. If he didn’t catch the 9:20 bus, he would be late for sign in. Not signing in on time would generate a call from crew scheduling. If they couldn’t reach him by 9:45, they might reassign his trip to another pilot.

Mentally exhausted and emotionally distraught, he had difficulty processing. Every fiber of his emotions grasped to convert words into reality, while every cell in his brain refused to accept it as truth.

The trooper switched off the red and blue lights atop his Ford, his headlights pierced Ryan’s eyes in the rear view mirror. Should he stop the cop and tell him what was going on? There was still time. One last chance.

But before Ryan could sort through the consequences, the cruiser pulled out onto the freeway and raced off. Ryan was alone in the dark.

His cell rang.

Ryan reached to his belt. The cell wasn’t there. A second ring sounded from the passenger’s seat. He found the phone. Fumbling in the dark to open the flip, he dropped it on the floor.

It rang a third time.

He probed in the dark beneath his feet, stabbing his hand around until he found the small block of plastic. As he brought the phone to his ear, he flipped it open with his thumb. “Hello…I’m here!”

“Captain Mitchell, why aren’t you moving? I hope you’re not talking to that cop? Do I need to kill your son, too?”

The lunatic’s voice was too calm for someone who had just murdered a five-year-old girl. A sliver of hope crept into Ryan’s thoughts.

“Please,” he pleaded, “I’m going.” Ryan turned the ignition. “Just tell me you didn’t do it? Tell me my daughter is alive. Please….”

“Yes,” Samael said, “your daughter is alive.”

“Oh, dear God….” Ryan whispered. “Thank you, God.”

“Captain Mitchell, your God doesn’t hear you. If he did, you wouldn’t be in this situation, would you? I’m your god now, and next time I won’t be so merciful. Now, drive! I want to see you moving.”

“Okay! I’m moving!” Ryan stomped the accelerator, spinning the tires, gravel clinking against the wheel wells as the car fishtailed onto the highway. “I’m driving! See! Look at your screen! I’m moving!”

The cell went dead. The lunatic was gone.

CHAPTER 20

8:34 p.m.

The tiny, red light inched slowly across the computer screen. “He’s moving,” Usman said.

The albino smiled. He turned to Keri and the children. “Keri, I think it’s time the children went to bed.”

Looking at the gurneys was enough to “fabricate” fear in her heart. She quickly offered, “I’ll take them to their rooms.”

“No, Keri. I went to a lot of trouble to bring some very special beds just for you and the children.” He looked at the children. “You can all sleep together tonight. It will be like camping out. Won’t that be fun?”

Keri protested, “What are you doing? Let me take them to their rooms.”

“Keri,” Samael said, moving closer, “you can make this easy, or you can make this difficult.” He looked at David. “See how quiet your son has been.” Turning to Martha, he said, “And your beautiful little girl has been especially brave.” In a low, calm voice, he said, “Now, Keri, if you work with me, your children will have no reason to be afraid. Remember, fear is nothing more than a fabrication in the mind.”

There was no use resisting. It would only make things worse for the children. If she cooperated, it might open up an opportunity to snatch the gun, kill the little cookie-munching midget, and blow the albino into his next life. She signed to David as she spoke, while Martha watched. “The man wants us to lie down on the cots and rest. Understand?”

David signed back, using guttural-sounding words, “All three?” He pointed to the gurneys. “There?”

Keri’s hand, balled into a fist and nodded, meaning yes. David stood, holding his mother’s hand. Within his quiet world, having not heard a single word spoken all night, Keri realized that David had less reason to fear. He trusted his mother because he believed in her—principles that even the twisted and evil mind of the albino understood. Thankfully, Martha continued to dissociate, comparing the giant, white freak and his weaselly, little friend to Sulley and Mike from Monstrapolis.

As they all three stood and moved to the gurneys, Keri focused on the gun in the albino’s latex-covered hand. She glanced at the little man. He appeared content, staring into the computer screen at the blinking, red dot as it progressed along the freeway to the airport.

Samael encouraged David to lie down on the gurney. He released his mother’s hand and sat on the edge of the bed. The albino lifted David’s legs onto the bed, and gently eased his upper body against the 45 degree incline. He patted the thin mattress of the middle gurney. “This one is for the brave little girl. You will be between your brother and mommy.”

Before reaching to help Martha up, the albino placed the gun on the table next to the computers. Though six feet away and well out of Keri’s reach, she couldn’t believe he put the gun down. This was her chance.

She glanced back at the little man. He seemed happily hypnotized by the blinking dot on the computer screen. It was a million-to-one chance—probably impossible—but what did she have to lose? Soon, she would be helplessly strapped to the gurney.

As the albino lifted Martha onto the gurney, she would move quickly: grab the gun, shoot the midget, then the freak. She’d have to be fast. Her heart broke into a stampede; her peripheral vision narrowed. It was her last chance.

Her eyes turned to Martha’s feet as the albino bent over to cradle her legs and lift her onto the gurney.

Do
it
now
!

Keri lurched for the gun, grabbed it, swung around, and raised the muzzle at the little man’s head. Hearing the disruption, he turned. His eyes, as large as dinner plates, staring at the muzzle of the gun only three feet from his face. She pulled the trigger, but instead of the expected boom, the hammer made a dry, stick-breaking
click
as it fell on an empty chamber.

Panicked by the silence, she swung the pistol toward the albino, hoping for a second chance. The albino whipped around, but she was faster. Seeing Martha in his arms, she hesitated, then quickly raised the muzzle to the freak’s head.

Staring at her through fearless eyes, he said, “Go ahead, see if you’re lucky.”

Her finger pulled the trigger.

Click
.

“I guess not,” he said.

Click
.

Smiling, he came straight at her as she squeezed the trigger a third time.

Click
.

With Martha still cradled in the albino’s left arm, he grabbed the pistol with his right hand and tore it out of her grip with such force that she thought her finger broke before it slipped through the trigger guard. She squealed in pain.

“Bad girl,” he said, still smiling. He tapped the butt of the gun against her skull. “Did you really think I’d put a loaded gun within your reach? He tucked the pistol in his pocket and turned, gently placing Martha on the gurney. He then turned back to Keri. “Guns are loud and messy. There are other ways to kill.” He nodded to the little man. “Help me strap them down.”

Usman rose and assisted strapping the children to their gurneys.

David met Keri’s stare, his eyes growing watery with tears. Martha appeared calm, less frightened than David, possibly still imagining the two men as innocent scarers sent on a mission from the scare factory in Monstrapolis—a city powered by little children’s screams; screams she was not going to provide.

Painfully, Keri watched her children being strapped to the beds like animals. Martha’s silence was a sign she was in shock.

“No!
Please
!” she pleaded. “They’re just children! They can’t hurt you. For God’s sake, my son is deaf, he won’t talk.”

The men continued until the children were securely strapped to their gurneys. The little man produced a roll of duct tape and began tearing off slices from the roll, taping the children’s mouths closed.

Keri’s instincts took over. Blood pumped through her small frame, her muscles tightened. All fear was forgotten—erased from her mind. Unconcerned for her own life, she struck like a viper at the little man, knocking him to the floor. Her fisted hands pummeling his face, knocking his glasses across the room; then his chest, stomach, and anything she could make contact with.

“Help! Samael! Get her off me!”

Keri continued her assault like a jackhammer, relentlessly beating the man’s body. “Don’t touch my children!”

The albino spun around, his arm like a coiled spring, his hand like a claw, he grabbed the back of Keri’s blouse, pulling her back, lifting her to her feet like a puppet. “Keri! What did I tell you?” He slammed her on top of the gurney. She kicked wildly, struggling against the inevitable nylon straps, but there was no use. The albino had ten times her strength.

“They’re just children!” she cried, tears welling in her eyes. “Please!”

In less than a minute, she was immobilized; her arms and legs secured to the gurney by black nylon straps.

The little man, assured of bruises from his beating, happily tore a strip of the wide gray duct tape off the roll. He stretched it across Keri’s mouth and pressed it hard, running his fingers over the tape, pushing it as if he wanted to work it into her pores. His fingers moving back and forth across her lips made her want to scream—pushing and rubbing. Keri almost fainted.

“That’s enough,” the albino said to Usman. “Get back to the computer.”

Keri inhaled deep through her nose, her heart pounding in her chest. She blinked furiously, clearing her tear-blurred vision.

“Keri, until you calm down, the tape stays on.”

Samael retrieved a satchel she’d not yet seen, and carefully removed a zippered pouch. From the pouch he withdrew three, small, clear bottles filled with a dirty-looking liquid, and placed them reverently on the mantle above the fireplace. With his back to her, she watched him standing quietly with his head bowed.

He turned and moved back to Keri’s side and leaned down, bringing his face level with hers. She caught a glimpse of his eyes over the narrow rectangular lenses. She flinched. His blue eyes flickered uncontrollably. Her head pushed back against the thin mattress as he moved closer, fearing what he might do. He didn’t move for the longest time as he stared, first into her left eye, then into her right. He leaned closer, now only an inch from her face. He sniffed, smelling her.

He straightened and stepped back. “Keri, I want to show you something.”

He pulled off his hooded cloak and his undershirt. He stood naked from the waist up. His cadaverously, white body towered over her. His muscles bulged beneath tightly-drawn, white skin. Cold and inhuman, he resembled a marbleized, museum double of Michelangelo’s sculpted perfection of
David
.

Tattooed across his chest in flowing script was the word
KEROESSA
.

Her stare lingered. She found it difficult to look away. Never before had she seen anything like it. He pressed his fingers against his chest beneath the black letters of the tattoo, from the
K
to the
A
.