Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (6 page)

With reverence and respect, Ryan and Keri approached two, four-foot polished marble markers. The world outside had quickly forgotten—like it never happened—but inside the boundaries of the cemetery, death, ironically, didn’t seem so final. Like a sieve, death had graciously filtered out the many inadequacies and shortcomings of the deceased leaving only the good to be remembered.

Keri leaned down and placed fresh-cut flowers in the floral cone at the foot of the headstone, then stepped back. Two evenly-spaced granite markers, set flush with the grass, bore their names and the dates of their births and deaths:

REX T. DEAN: FEBRUARY 9, 1958 – JULY 11, 2002

EMILY A. DEAN: NOVEMBER 11, 1959 – JULY 11, 2002

“It’s hard to believe they’re gone,” he said.

Keri said nothing.

He pondered the last date of their short lives chiseled in the stone: July 11, 2002.

Our
anniversary
was
the
day
of
the
crash
…
July
11th
…
Rex
died
on
a
Thursday
.

He let the thought marinate.

When
did
I
see
him
last
?

It was the afternoon of July 4th. He and Rex had just returned from four days of recurrent training. They were standing in the employee parking lot at the LAX airport saying goodbye.

How
could
I
forget
?
Keri
and
I
took
the
kids
down
to
the
pier
that
night
and
watched
fireworks
.
It
was
a
Thursday
night
…
the
week
before
the
crash
.

He searched deeper.

I
was
telling
him
about
our
plans
to
watch
the
fireworks
display
.

Then, he remembered their last words together.

Are
you
sure
you
don’t
mind
flying
my
trip
on
the
11th
?

Rex had replied, “No worries. I’m on it. You and Keri enjoy the night. Bro, remember, I’ve always got your back. See you on the other side.” Then Rex said goodbye and drove away.

“
I’ve
always
got
your
back
”

They were the exact same words Rex had spoken in Atlanta, back in 1987, when he crawled out of Philip Darby’s boardroom. Suddenly, everything good about Rex flooded into his thoughts. The sieve of death had done its job.

Without warning, grief wrenched Ryan’s heart like a sponge. His throat tightened. Surrendering to tears would be so easy. They would not only purge his heart of grief but wash out the need to care about anyone, anything. Blessed relief could be his if he simply admitted that the long struggle to understand wasn’t worth the pain of experience. He wanted to scream out to God.

Why
,
why
,
why
,
why
,
WHY
?!

Keri put her arm in his as though she could read his thoughts. “Rex would have done anything for you. He loved you like a brother.”

In another life, Ryan and Rex had been best friends. They served six years together in the Navy prior to coming to the airline. Their final assignment, which began in 1981, was a three-year tour at the Fighter Weapons School at Naval Air Station (NAS) Miramar, San Diego, California, as TOPGUN instructors. It was then when he first met Emily.

His eyes shifted to Emily’s marker: EMILY A. DEAN.

A crow cawed; a ship’s horn sounded in the bay—both possible triggers propelling him through an imaginary portal; a crack in time—to a distant memory. The vivid details of December 22, 1983, replayed in his mind with the clarity of the present: the white, gift box containing a dozen, thornless roses he’d presented to Emily in celebration of their six months together; the sight of her standing in the doorway of her apartment, wrapped in a white bathrobe, no makeup, her hair up in a towel; her engaging eyes, excited playfulness, and loving affection; his anxious heart had filled with hope that she would accept his proposal for marriage.

During that carefully planned afternoon in December, he’d presented her with three visual images, hoping to send a coded message to her heart.

First: Rosecrans National Cemetery:
the
brevity
of
life
and
the
urgency
to
embrace
the
present
.

Second: the Old Point Loma Lighthouse:
the
importance
of
relationships
over
places
and
things
.

Third: Cabrillo National Monument:
when
faced
with
the
unknown
,
willing
to
embrace
the
driving
power
of
adventure
and
discovery
.

Knowing he would soon be leaving San Diego, he had feared she might not go with him. If forced to leave her behind, he would surely lose her to someone else. He had seen it as his last opportunity.

At the end of the day, although each hidden message had been clear and effective and his every hope fulfilled, December 22, 1983, would later be remembered, ironically, as the biggest mistake in his life—the day Emily became his wife.

I
was
too
young
to
know
…
she
was
too
beautiful
for
me
to
resist
.

Suddenly, he couldn’t think about anything but the pain. His choosing to love Emily had robbed him of many happy years and had nearly robbed him of the greatest treasure in life—Keri. For a long time, maybe even since that day, he’d known that being a victim was often a choice people made, but in this case, he’d been blindsided.

Akin to the man-eaters of all times, from Cleopatra to Jolie, she lured him into the rocks with the enchanted song of a skilled Siren.

I
didn’t
have
a
chance
.

Ryan’s brief marriage to Emily ended suddenly when she was snared by her own narcissistic desires—much like the dog in Aesop’s fable,
The
Dog
and
the
Bone
.

A parasite in search of a new host, she married again. But her second marriage ended abruptly and unexpectedly leaving her in search of a third male host. Fate quickly arranged her third rendezvous with, none other than, the
Rexter
.

Rex underestimated Emily’s seductive powers and quickly found himself mesmerized by her enchanted song of the Siren. After they married, she kept Rex on a tight leash, forbidding him to have anything to do with the Mitchell family—for obvious reasons. From that point forward, Ryan’s only social interaction with Rex had been at work.

Ryan stared deep into the face of the granite markers. “How can they get away with this?” He glanced at Keri and back at the stones.

Keri remained silent.

“Something stinks,” he said. “The jet was off the coast over open water…they just blew it out of the sky! It’s all wrong! The plane wasn’t anywhere near a building!”

“Honey, calm down.”

“Somebody screwed up and now they’re trying to cover it up!”

“Why would the government want to lie about something like this?”

He ignored Keri’s question. “They claimed that after multiple failed attempts by air traffic controllers and airborne F-16s to communicate with Rex and his copilot, the unprecedented decision was made by the Defense secretary to shoot the jet down. As they put it, ‘To protect mass-populated areas and critical targets.’ Without further explanation, the report concluded that there was substantial evidence the plane was headed towards a target in San Francisco. Over 200 innocent people were murdered, all because somebody had a hunch.”

“Poor, Emily,” Keri said. “We might never know the truth.”

He turned toward her. “He didn’t do it. Rex is innocent. He may have been a jerk, but he was
not
a murderer.”

“We both know Rex would never kill Emily.”

“I just don’t understand. You would think the crime scene experts would have been able to find something—a fiber, a hair, a flake of skin—something!”

“I don’t understand the blood-soaked footprints leading from the house to the garage where Rex parked his car.”

“Easy. All the killer had to do was take a spare pair of Rex’s work shoes and make the prints.”

“It’s wrong.”

“No, it’s
impossible
that Rex murdered Emily prior to leaving for the airport. I’ll never believe it. What I do believe is that they simply decided that it would save them a lot of time, money, and trouble to blame it on the dead husband. Neither of their parents are alive and there were no children. Rex was an only child and Emily’s brother is in jail and her sister is a crackhead. Case closed.”

“Let’s go,” Keri said. But before she took two steps, she collapsed to the ground. Ryan quickly caught her, breaking her fall.

“Keri! Are you okay?”

She rolled over and vomited on Ryan’s shoe. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry….” She wheezed and coughed, breathing deep.

“Are you okay?”

She quietly gained her composure. “I think so.”

“Here, let me help you.”

Back at the car, Keri said, “You and I both know Rex didn’t do it, but do you think they’ll ever find out who did? I mean—”

“I doubt it. As far as the authorities are concerned, it’s over.”

After learning of the acquisitions made against Rex—that he had murdered his wife—there had been talks of his crash being a suicide. Some believed Rex might have, not only killed his wife, but committed suicide by crashing the plane into the Pacific. Ryan found the idea incredulous. Commercial airline pilots were one of the most highly trained, disciplined, regulated, and conscientious work groups on the planet, and Rex was one of the best. But Ryan’s curiosity led him on a search to see if there was any record of such a thing ever happening. Surprisingly, Ryan’s research revealed numerous disturbing cases around the world where commercial airline crashes showed circumstantial evidence pointing to pilot suicide.

In 1982, a DC-8 flew into shallow water short of the runway after a struggle between a mentally ill captain and his copilot, killing twenty-four.

In 1991, a Boeing 737 crashed on short final at Colorado Springs, killing twenty-five. Although initially thought to be a rudder malfunction, the NTSB concluded the cause of the accident to be undetermined. Many pilots working for the airline believed the cause of the crash to be a murder/suicide involving the captain and his first-officer wife, who were known to be feuding.

In 1994, an ATR-42 entered into a steep dive and crashed ten minutes after takeoff, killing 44. Reports indicated that the pilot disconnected the autopilot and deliberately crashed, committing suicide.

In 1997, a Boeing 737 departed normal cruise flight and crashed at a high rate of speed, killing 104. The cockpit voice recorder had been deactivated before the dive was initiated. Reports indicated that the captain’s career disappointments and financial stress may have led him to commit suicide.

In 1999, a Boeing 767 departed cruise altitude of 33,000 feet and entered several dives and recoveries before entering a final, diving descent at a rate of 24,000 feet per minute, plunging into the Atlantic Ocean. Reports confirmed that the first officer’s flight control inputs had caused the airplane’s departure from normal cruise and that both of the plane’s engines had been shut down. Two hundred and seventeen people perished.

Ryan knew that the causes of many commercial aircraft accidents went unsolved, classified by the NTSB: “For Undetermined Reasons”. Of those classed as “undetermined”, many were tagged as pilot error.

With the average age of commercial airline pilots at an all time high, managers pushing them to work more hours for the same or less pay, and stress, fatigue, and depression widespread, he could see how the mental stability of pilots could be tested—but not Rex.

“So do you think there are a lot of pilots running around ready to snap?” Keri asked.

“No, but the facts certainly make it easier for them to pin this on Rex, as some people believe. We have more pilots in alcohol and drug treatment programs than ever before. Divorce rates and domestic disputes are rampant. At our airline alone, we have had two pilot suicides in the last year. One guy hung himself in his garage and another one shot himself in the head with his handgun while on a layover.”

“How do you know all this?” Her voice elevated with a new sense of concern.

“It has become a HOT TOPIC during recurrent training. We have a two hour class dedicated to making sure we are aware of how serious this problem has become. I’m sure all of the airlines have similar programs. The union is constantly trying to assure pilots that they have a safe haven—some place to turn—where they can find help before it is too late.”

“Why haven’t you told me about this?”

“I didn’t want you to worry more than you already do. I guess this situation with Rex brings things closer to home. I know Rex and Emily were deeply in debt and their marriage was not in the greatest shape, but I can’t believe it was bad enough to push Rex over the edge. He’s not the type to crack under pressure.”

Her concern growing, Keri said, “You’re not going to snap, are you?”

“No.”

“I worry about you…I mean…you have that gun with you when you fly…you aren’t sleeping…I know you are under a lot of stress…and now hearing this story about some pilot shooting himself on a layover, and another one hanging himself in his garage—”