Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below (10 page)

“Early as usual,” I said in a kidding voice.

I knew this situation needed to be played very carefully. He spit his gum on my windshield.

“Oh that’s real cute, Craig,” I said. He picked it off and threw it on the ground.

“Here is the money that I owe you.” He threw $75 at me.

I said, “Thank you.”

“I owe you another $25,” he inquisitively stated.

“That’s okay, just keep it.” I couldn’t show any signs of being selfish.

“Get out of the car, Chris.”
That’s it, he is going to kill me right here at the bank
. I got out of the car.

He hugged me, kissed me and said, “Goodbye forever, Chris.”

I drove off stunned. All kinds of thoughts were going through my head.
Is he going to be a phantom and disappear? Well, there goes the truck. Surely he won’t do anything foolish
.

I came home Monday night from my trip to Madrid.
Hmm, no phone calls. That was strange
. All day Tuesday the phone did not ring. Now I was beginning to think something happened.
Had he disappeared as he promised
?

Later that day, my insurance agent called and said Craig didn’t pay his insurance policy for the truck. They were forced to cancel the policy. I told her that figures. “I will call him to straighten it out.”

Craig had assured me he was paying all of his bills for the last four months. I told him I wanted my wedding ring so I could sell it and pay off the financing. He said he wanted to give it to his next wife and would continue making the payments. Unfortunately, he never did.

I called Craig on Wednesday. I called and called, but there was no answer. I telephoned his office. His boss said he hadn’t been in all week. “He’d better show up sometime soon or he’s fired,” she said. A wave of uncertainty hit me.
Maybe he hadn’t disappeared; maybe it was something far worse
. About three weeks prior to this, Craig told me he was going to leave the company he was working for and take them for at least a thousand dollars before he left. I wasn’t sure of his plans or if he indeed had done so.

I felt compelled to drive to the apartment. On the way there, I considered two possibilities: his Bronco is not parked in the
lot indicating he has probably disappeared or if his Bronco is there, he may have done the unthinkable and killed himself.

Turning the corner, I saw the red Bronco. I slowly walked up to the apartment door noticing all of the windows were open. I knocked on the door, with no answer in return. “Craig, Craig, Are you in there?” I heard nothing. I knew in my heart that it was over.

I drove back to mom and dad’s house. I guess I wasn’t mentally prepared to enter the apartment yet. While driving home, everything seemed to be in slow motion. I can still hear what songs were playing on the radio. I can still tell you which stop sign I missed.

I called mom at work and said, “He is in there.”

“I will meet you there,” she said.

I called John. He said in disbelief, “I’m sure he’s okay, but I am coming with you.”

When John and I arrived, we went directly to the apartment manager’s office. I explained the situation to her. She called one of her employees and the four of us went to the apartment together.

We walked in tentatively. Nothing seemed to be out of place. The windows were open, so there wasn’t an odor.
Maybe I was wrong
. The door to his ‘secret’ room was closed. John was the first to open it. “Oh my God,” he said. “He is in there.” Craig
had taken off all of his clothes then shot himself in the right-hand side of the head. He lay face down in a pool of blood.

We called the police. It took three hours for them to do their investigation. One of the police officers held something out in his hand. “Do you know what this is?” I shook my head no. He said it was a homemade hand grenade. “What would he be doing with that?” I told him that was the Craig I didn’t know. There was no note.

Mom arrived, and in silence we tearfully watched them carry Craig’s body off in a bag. My heart was full of mixed emotions. Part of me knew if he were living, I would never be free. But part of me mourned the person I once loved. The hardest thing I had to do was call his family. How do you tell a mother her son is no longer here? Stunned and devastated, she requested his body be flown to where he grew up. She also said she wanted me to come to the funeral. I never told his family the whole story.

The next day I went to the apartment to pick out his favorite suit for the funeral. It was a rainy and dreary day. I drove in a daze the whole way. While stopped at a light, I heard a tremendous crash behind me. The next thing I knew, my head slammed against the steering wheel. The change compartment spewed coins everywhere.
This can’t be happening
. I pulled over.

Two cars behind me were badly mangled. The driver, who rear-ended my car, apologized and gave me his insurance card.
The back end of the car was damaged, but I was too distraught to mess with it. I never did call his insurance company. My mom was driving a mile behind me. She hoped the ruckus ahead did not involve me, but unfortunately it did. Once the police report was filled out, I drove off and headed for the apartment.

I opened the apartment door and we about gagged. Because of the weather conditions outside, the windows were now closed. The putrefying smell was worse than any dead animal. My mom and I slowly opened the door where Craig shot himself. The blood soaked carpet had an imprint where his head had lain. I grabbed his favorite suit, tie, and shoes.

I flew to his childhood home for his funeral. I was standing over Craig in the casket with his brother. I pointed out a scar on his hand and shared the story of what happened to Craig. His brother laughed. He said when Craig was young; he and his brother were messing around. He put his hand through the screen door. Not the story I heard. A lot of eye-openers were brought out in the open that day. His old girlfriend was present. She was also a flight attendant for a different airline. “You are one lucky girl to be alive,” she said. Craig had beaten her up so severely that she was placed in intensive care. He accused her of cheating on him, which she had not done. He was in her apartment when she came home one day and started hitting her. She ran into the closet waiting till she heard his footsteps
leave. When she thought he was gone, she opened the door only to find him still there. He beat her until she almost died. Why was she there at the funeral? She still loved him.

I came home from the memorial exhausted. Mom and dad told me a certified letter was sent to their house. It stated that Craig owed a lot of money to the IRS. If he did not pay it within fifteen days, he would be thrown in jail. He must have known this from prior notices. Now things made more sense. Craig kept urging me to stick with him for six more months and not pursue the annulment. “Just six more months,” he said. Maybe it was because he wanted me to be responsible for his debts as a wife. I remember him saying coming from a Christian background, I could never leave him. Thank God I had the strength to leave.

I was in a lot of trouble financially. I remembered Craig saying he put my name as the beneficiary of his $25,000 life insurance policy with his company. I knew it was probably null and void because it was suicide, but I was desperate, so I called his boss. We talked intimately about everything. She said Craig always said his region in North Carolina was a gold mine. His papers showed nothing. She didn’t know what he was doing. She told me the best thing I could do is to put everything behind me.

I went with mom and dad to visit some relatives in Illinois. While driving home to Georgia, I felt something might be
waiting for me. I didn’t know what, but it wasn’t a feeling of dread. As I approached the house, I reached with anticipation into the mailbox. I was hoping something good was in there, but nothing of interest was inside. I usually can trust my intuition, so I hurriedly entered the house. There, was the blinking answering machine. I immediately replayed the messages. There was one from his boss informing me the insurance policy went through. I jumped up and down with joy. I called Craig’s boss back. She asked if I would repay Craig’s thousand-dollar loan and some other miscellaneous debts. I thought back to Craig’s conversation. “I am going to leave this company and take them for at least a thousand dollars.” I said absolutely and thanked her profusely. It paid off most of the debt incurred. The only things left were the emotional scars.

eath is part of life, but what about life after death? For those of you who think death is final and there’s nothing beyond, you may want to skip this chapter. I am going to tell my own personal story following Craig’s suicide. During the stalking days, he said, “I am going to haunt you forever.” He indeed did!

While I was attending Craig’s funeral, I went to his childhood park to be by myself. I felt I wasn’t alone, though. I sat on a swing gently rocking and said out loud, “If you’re here, I want you to move that empty swing back and forth.” I looked and looked. Nothing happened.
Whew! He’s gone
.

About a week after the funeral, my family gathered around our dining room table. We were talking about the whole unbelievable nightmare. You go through so many emotions when something like this happens: denial, responsibility, relief, guilt,
etc. I kept feeling a slight breeze touch my arms. After the third time, I looked to see if the ceiling fan was on, but it wasn’t. My mom asked what was wrong, saying I looked spooked. I shrugged it off.

I continued working high time. That means you work your schedule plus you pick up other flight attendant’s trips they don’t want to fly. I was seldom home and was temporarily living at my parent’s house. I am guessing I was only there maybe five or six days a month.

Once, I walked in the kitchen and a gentle breeze touched my face. I didn’t think much of it. I briefly smelled a putrid odor that was like the one in the apartment — reminiscent of a dead animal. It lasted a second or two.

I was in the kitchen putting some dishes in the dishwasher. All of a sudden, a loud, knocking noise occurred directly underneath my feet. It sounded like, da, da, da, da. I felt it and heard it. I jumped up and looked under the cabinet, but nothing was out of place. The dishwashing soap, window cleaner and bleach were still upright. I went down in the basement and looked up to where I was standing. There were no pipes or anything else that could have caused that ruckus. My parents still worked, so I was home alone during the day. I called mom to see if anything like that ever happened to her; she said no. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she replied. This reassured me a little.

The next morning, I was taking a shower. A heavy, gold-plated razor fell off the edge of the tub. I thought that was strange. Out of curiosity, I put direct water pressure on the razor. It didn’t budge.

I was halfway through curling my hair when I heard the vent above my head move by itself. It’s the kind where you move your thumb to adjust the flow. I heard it turn slowly, urrrrrh. A drop of dirty water fell to the floor. I felt an eerie feeling as if someone were staring at me. I hurried with my hair and ran out of the house to call mom. I explained to her what happened. She said, “Listen, even if it is him, you didn’t let him control you when he was here; don’t let him control you when he’s gone. Don’t pay any attention.”

I went on my trip to Madrid. One of the flight attendants I was flying with was getting married. She said she was in need of a wedding veil. I told her I had a veil I never used and asked if she would be interested in seeing it. To which she replied, “Absolutely.” When I returned home from my trip, I began to search for the veil. It was down in the basement (along with everything else that once belonged to Craig).

While looking for the veil, I found some old pictures of Craig and me on our honeymoon. I was thumbing through them when suddenly the light went out. It was now pitch black. I blindly felt around for the string that turned the light on. When
I finally found it, I gave it a strong tug. As I pulled down on the string, the light came on. I found the veil and scurried upstairs as fast as I could. Being a logical person, I thought it didn’t make any sense. If the light was on and the bulb went off, when I pulled the string to turn it on, it should have clicked off first.