London Escape (6 page)

I can hear Alexa’s voice chirping from the phone, which is still on floor by my feet. I don’t need to pick it up and listen to know what she’s saying. Reminding me of all the times I’ve tried to overcome this particular fear and failed.

It’s not just flying that terrifies me, but heights in general. Most people have phobias, I suppose. Jason, for example, hates spiders, even the tiny ones. Alexa, well, I’ve never known her to be afraid of anything but a mismatched outfit or a computer virus she can’t fix. And my dad, the only thing that keeps him up at night is the fear of something happening to me.

But my fear isn’t a simple phobia that can be overcome by therapy or simply pushing through. It’s called acrophobia, an extreme fear of heights. I don’t even like to stand on a ladder or a step-stool. Climbing stairs can be a challenge sometimes, but most of the time I can manage. An elevator doesn’t bother me, because I can’t see how high I am. It’s also another trait I shared with my mom, like me, she was also afraid of heights. My dad said she flew for work all of the time, but had to take a pill to calm her nerves. Even if I could get a hold of something like that, there’s simply no time.

It’s the last thing I want to think about or deal with now, of all times. I pick up the phone. “Alexa?”

“Kit, what the—”

“Sorry.” My hand is shaking, but I think of Jason, wherever he might be. Maybe, just maybe he is still safe. If I could make it to him in time and help him, everything will be okay. Together we could figure this thing out, I’m sure of it.

“What are you going to do?” Alexa asks. I can hear the worry in her voice. I know she thinks I’ve lost my mind.

I start the engine of my car without a second thought. “I’m going to London.”

“Kit, you can’t be serious,” she protests.

“What would Jason do if I was in trouble, Alexa?” I ask pointedly.

“He wouldn’t have to do anything, because you would never do something as stupid as stealing from your dad and taking off out of the country!” she points out.

“Look,” I begin, “I don’t know what’s going on, but I know he’s in trouble. He asked for my help and I’m going to give it to him.”

“Have you even considered, for one second, the possibility that Jason is the one in the wrong here? He’s the one who stole from his dad. He’s the one who’s on the run. Are you really going to let him drag you into all of this? He could go to jail, Kit, and so could you if you help him!”

I know she’s just trying to be the voice of reason, as always, but I really don’t appreciate her lack of faith in my own moral code, or Jason’s.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong,” I defend quickly, without thinking, because I believe it to be true. “Trust me, I know Jason, better than anyone. There’s got to be an explanation behind all of this.”

“So you have to go all the way to London just so you can get your explanation?” Her tone is accusing.

“Yes!” I exclaim.

“And you know perfectly well that your dad will be completely livid when he finds out you’ve run away, not to mention hurt you didn’t go to him first.”

I hardly remember my mom, but sometimes I can hear her in Alexa’s logic. I shake my head, even though she can’t see me.

“I don’t care,” I say finally. The words sting, but they ring true. I would have gone to him with my problem if he had been there. But he wasn’t. Not this time and not ever before. I’m on my own, as always.

Alexa heaves a sigh of resignation. “This really puts the whole damsel in distress thing in perspective doesn’t it?” she says wryly.

“What?” My heart is pounding in my chest at the thought of everything that might possibly lie ahead while Alexa’s telling lame jokes. I knew there was a good reason she was my best friend.

“So who’s the damsel?” I ask.

“That would be Jason,” she says with a laugh.

“Then I guess I’m Prince Charming.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she sighs. “I know I’m not going to convince you to stay, but let me say this. Please, please, please be careful. Don’t do anything stupid. You don’t know who these guys are or what kind of people Jason could be dealing with. Just find him and get home.”         

“Right,” I affirm, trying not to think of everything I already know about Mr. V.

“Okay, I’ll cover for you if your dad calls,” she promises.

“Thanks.” I hang up before she can ask me if I packed extra underwear or snacks for the plane ride. My hands are shaking as my nerves threaten to take over, and not just because of what I’m about to do. If I don’t hurry I’ll miss the next flight out. I can’t bear the thought of sitting around an airport terminal for three hours while my best friend is in danger.

As expected, I run into crazy traffic on the way to the airport. After stowing my car in the long-term lot, I rush into the crowded airport. LaGuardia is one of the largest and busiest airports in the country, and it’s packed with people at this time of day. Impatiently I stop and wait in line to purchase my tickets. Buying a last minute flight to Europe isn’t exactly cheap, but I don’t care.

Because I only packed a carry-on, I’m checked in and through security in record time. Thankfully my flight is already boarding when I arrive at my gate, so there’s no time to reconsider. I take a deep breath and follow the line of people filing through the walkway onto the plane. The plane is pretty full already, but I easily find my assigned seat. I’m still gripping my backpack in my hands tightly when the flight attendant tells me I need to place it under the seat in front of me. I comply, but not before I take out my notebook and place it in my lap.

“Excuse me, dear?” the elderly lady sitting next to the window says. “Would you like to sit by the window? I’ve made this trip several times.”

I grin tightly. “No, thank you.”

As the rest of the passengers file onto the cramped plane I take out my cell phone one last time, knowing the flight attendants will soon request that everyone turn off their electronics. Taking a deep breath I follow the steps Alexa had listed for me earlier to disable the GPS chip inside, effectively taking myself off the grid. It’s a big risk on my part. If my dad suspects anything is going on when he talks to Alexa, he might try to locate my cell phone on his computer as he has done before. Still, I can’t take the chance of him knowing where I am right now. I ease my guilty conscious by telling myself I will be meeting up with Jason soon, and we’d be back before my dad will even know I’m gone. Besides, he’s busy with work right now and most of the time when he was off on an important trip he couldn’t even be bothered to call and check in. The last thing he would be thinking about this week is me. At least, that’s what I’m hoping.

I pretend to watch as the flight attendants go through their routine of pointing out the emergency exits and the flotation devices under the seats. Strangely enough, it isn’t the fear of crashing into the ocean or the ground that bothers me most. It’s the mere idea of being thousands of feet in the air that terrifies me. I suddenly wish I had thought to pack my iPod or something to distract me. I had been too busy packing essentials like clothing to think about entertainment.

I look down at the notebook in my lap, the same one I had used to scribble my notes as I cracked the coded text message. It is a well-worn leather journal Jason had given me for my birthday a year ago. I open it up and re-read the inscription inside the cover: “For your adventures – Jason”. At the time I hadn’t really appreciated the gesture. I didn’t have any adventures, unless you counted occasionally sneaking out of the house to go watch a movie at his place.

But now that is finally changing.

Tucked inside the back cover of the notebook are a handful of pictures I have stored there. There are pictures of me and Alexa, and quite a few of Jason, but it isn’t his picture that gives me pause. It’s the last photo in the small stack, the one I had almost forgotten about. Jason isn’t the only child who stole from their father, I realize. I can remember being nine years old and sneaking this particular picture from a family album before my dad could put it in storage with the rest of her stuff.

 It isn’t a family photo, though I would have liked one. It is just the two of them, my mom and dad. I can’t tell where they are in the photo, some picturesque mountainside, but the beauty of the scenery is dimmed by the look of love in their eyes. This picture has always confused and comforted me at the same time, just as it does now. How could she have left, when she clearly loved him so much?

I was only nine when she left, so I can still picture them together in my mind. They had never been unhappy, at least not where I could see. But then the day had come, dark and cold, when my dad had simply walked into my room and told me my mom was gone. I asked him where, but he just shook his head sadly and walked away.

 When I was little it had been easier. Easier to pretend she had just wanted a different life than we could have given her. I used to pretend she was off in Paris studying paintings, or in Italy bicycling across the countryside. It was easier to think she just wasn’t cut out to be my mom, easier to pretend I didn’t want her to be. But as I grew, so did my resentment toward her. My feelings of abandonment never faded. Like my dad, I simply tried to put her away, somewhere where she couldn’t hurt me. It wasn’t much better, but it was something.

Now is not a good time for reminiscing. I grip the armrests tightly as the engines start to roar and the plane begins its ascent. I close my eyes and try to think of something, anything besides the ground that is quickly disappearing below. The old lady in the seat beside me doesn’t seem to mind. Instead she reaches over, plucks the pictures from my hands and starts examining them.

“Is this your boyfriend?” She holds up the picture of Jason.

I nod, but only because I’m too afraid to open my mouth and speak. I’m not sure what will come out right now, either my breakfast or a curse.

“My, my, he sure is handsome.” She flips to the next one of Alexa. “Oh, and she’s very pretty, isn’t she?”

Again I nod, gritting my teeth as my ears pop and the plane begins to level off.

She seems to notice my odd behavior, but doesn’t seem concerned. Instead she glances out the window and casually comments, “My, we’re high, aren’t we?”

Unconsciously my eyes follow her gaze to the window where I can barely make out the tops of the clouds. Not a good idea. I close my eyes again.

“Oh goodness, are these your parents? Why you look just like your mother!”

Now I definitely feel like I’m going to throw up.

As it happened, my overly-friendly seatmate didn’t turn out to be such a bad thing. She talked the entire flight to Toronto, hardly stopping for breath. She was also headed to London, on the same connecting flight, and insisted we sit together on that flight as well. As odd of a friend as she was, her constant prattle about her son and grandkids waiting for her kept me sane. I could just listen to her talk and forget about the flight.

Because of the time change, we wouldn’t be landing at Heathrow Airport in London until 6:30 AM, so at some point I force myself to nap uncomfortably in my seat.

As we begin our final descent into Heathrow, my friend still dozing in the seat beside me, the reality of what I have done begins to hit me. I can’t help but think of my dad, and hope he never finds out what I’ve done. It’s not just the fear of flying that has turned my stomach into a cold, hard knot, but also the lingering guilt from running away like this without telling him. Before that guilt takes over, I can easily imagine what he would say to me right now if given the chance. He would tell me I’m being just like my mom, impulsive and stubborn. I never liked it when he compared me to her, even on the rare occasion he meant it as a compliment. Who would want to be compared to the woman who abandoned her family the way she did? This isn’t the same thing, I tell myself.

By the time we land my stomach is back where it should be instead of feeling like it’s lodged my throat. I say goodbye to my new friend and wish her a good visit with her grandchildren. I realize as I walk away I never told her what I was doing in London, but I guess she never asked either.

London is five hours later than the East coast, so even though the clock says seven AM, to me it feels more like two in the morning. My body is telling me to find a hotel room and crash, while my brain is urging me to find Jason’s apartment and get started trying to find him.

I quickly hail a cab and give him Jason’s address. I feel like I’m in a daze as we head straight through downtown London, passing all the landmarks I’ve only seen in pictures and on TV. The cabbie helpfully points out Big Ben, though I would have recognized the famous clock tower anywhere. Next we pass Parliament, and finally, Buckingham Palace. I feel more than a little overwhelmed by it all until the cabbie finally pulls off onto a frighteningly narrow side road that puts us in a more residential neighborhood. The street is full of towering apartment buildings and little shops. At last we pull up to the curb and I pay him quickly with what little cash I had transferred into pounds.

I stand on the curb for a few minutes looking around and trying to gather my courage, which has already been pushed to the limits just by getting here. I can’t help but wonder what I will find inside Jason’s apartment. Will he still be there, safe and sound? Or is he already on the run, fleeing for his life?

I glance around nervously, wondering if the place is being watched. Up until now I haven’t even thought about the possibility. The front door to the apartment building is the kind where you have to be buzzed in from the inside or have a key, but someone has propped it open with a brick. I duck inside without a second thought.

Right away I’m faced with my first obstacle, three flights of stairs I must climb to get to his floor. Thinking of all I’ve accomplished so far, I grip the handrail, look down at my green Converse and take them one step at a time. I’m to the third floor in no time, slightly out of breath, but feeling victorious.

When I reach his door, D6, I pause momentarily to consider again what I might find inside. I picture myself knocking, only to have Jason open the door, a look of surprise on his face. I can’t help but hope this will come true, no matter how crazy he’ll think I am.