Flight into Darkness (Flight Trilogy, Book 2) (16 page)

“My beloved Keroessa,” he said. The corner of his mouth curled into a smile. “This is why I’m here. I wanted you to see it before you sleep.”

Keri felt confused. The words meant nothing to her. Perhaps it was the name of his lover.

How
could
any
woman
love
this
creature
.

Samael pulled on his shirt and cloak, leaving the hood down, then leaned close. Her heart raced.

He placed his hand on her shoulder.

Keri jerked against her binds, twisting her head, arching her back, feeling the bite of the straps digging into her wrists and ankles as she tried to scream through the tape.

Samael squeezed her shoulder once, firmly, as if he were testing the bone beneath her flesh, and then he drew away.

Returning to the satchel, he pulled out a flexible, rubber tube and white, plastic case. The case held hypodermic syringes and several ampoules containing an amber solution.

Her eyes widened. Unable to speak, she moaned against the burning tape stretched across her mouth.

“Keri, don’t be concerned, it’s only a little sodium thiopental to help the children sleep. Nothing more.”

She knew a small amount was harmless and would only induce sleep, but repeated injections would be required. Too much could put the children in a coma. An excessive amount would be lethal.

While being careful to keep the hypodermics out of the children’s view, he stripped the sheath off the needle, pierced the cap of one of the ampoule, drew a measured dose of the solution into the barrel of the syringe, and squirted some of it down at the floor to be sure no air remained in the needle.

Easing up next to Martha, he turned her right arm palm up. He used the flexible tubing as a tourniquet to make a vein clarify in the girl’s small arm. She whimpered and strained against the straps, closing her eyes tight, tears pouring down her cheeks. When he stuck the vein—she flinched. He slowly pressed the plunger and slipped loose the tourniquet. As the amber solution receded from the clear barrel of the hypodermic, the girl’s body relaxed, her whimpering ceased.

He refilled the hypodermic and then repeated the procedure with David.

With both children now sleeping, he rose and turned to Keri. “Would you like to join your children, or stay with us for a while?”

She shook her head repeatedly back and forth.

CHAPTER 21

8:50 p.m.

Ryan drove into the night, every mile separating him further and further from Keri, David, and Martha. His encounter with the cop had cost him valuable minutes. Driving over the posted speed limit was no longer an option. Assuming the freeway was clear, there was just enough time to make it to the employee lot, hop the bus to the terminal, and sign in for his trip before crew schedule started looking for him. He remembered the lunatic’s words—“Next time I won’t be so merciful.”

With his mind clouded in a fog of fatigue and stress, the remaining thirty-five miles clicked away unnoticed as he subconsciously navigated the 73, the 405, and then onto the 105 leading to the airport perimeter road.

Anxiously waiting at a traffic light on the perimeter road, heading west, he gazed off into the black sky. Seeing a crescent moon launched his tired mind into the past, recalling nursery rhymes and bedtime stories.
Wee
Willie
Winkie
,
Hey
Diddle
Diddle
,
Twinkle
Twinkle
Little
Star
, and Martha’s favorite:
Goodnight
Moon
.

Goodnight
room
.
Goodnight
moon
.
Goodnight
cow
jumping
over
the
moon
…

She loved identifying the objects in the great, green room—the red balloon, the comb, the kittens, the mittens, and especially the mouse—as he, or Keri, would read. Glued to each page, she would watch as Bunny’s room got continuously darker, the moon rose higher in the sky, and the time on the clock ticked later…

Goodnight
stars
.
Goodnight
air
.

until the last page was turned…

Goodnight
noises
everywhere
.

Pleasant memories, happy moments, and sweet thoughts spun his mind far away from reality. His body relaxed as the charge of adrenalin subsided, replaced by a sensation of near euphoria. Thoughts of death abated, if only for a short few moments—like the eye of the hurricane offers a moment of calm and peace to its tormented victims before striking another blow. For Ryan, the fears in his mind had receded and he was no longer a part of them.

Focused on the wispy thin clouds floating past the crescent moon, he basked in the sweet memories of quiet moments with his children before bedtime; a time free from evil and stress.

His heart ached, thinking of his deaf son. While reading bedtime stories, Ryan would sign to him. David’s little hands and fingers would join in with Ryan and Keri, signing words as they spoke.

In the beginning, David would study each picture, signing the words, while anxiously waiting for the page to turn.

Good
—the open right hand moving away from the lips.

Night
—the left arm horizontal pointing to the right (representing the horizon); the right wrist resting on the back of the left hand; right fingertips pointing down (the direction of the setting sun).

Room
—flat hands, palms facing each other, fold in, one behind the other (marking the four walls of a room).

Good
—
night
…

Moon
—index finger and thumb of right hand forms a modified C (representing the crescent moon), below the right eye.

With practice, David’s hands moved faster and faster, anticipating the words on each page and quick to point out when a page was skipped or a word forgotten—

Good
night
room
,
good
night
moon
.

A car horn from the anxious driver behind him blasted, jolting Ryan back into reality. He had not noticed the traffic light had turned green. He jammed his foot on the accelerator, and sped off. He checked the clock on the dash—9:11. He should make it to the employee lot in time to catch the 9:20 bus to the terminal, arriving at flight operations before his 9:30 sign in.

He parked in the lot at 9:16, unloaded his bags, and locked the car. The thunderous sound of a departing jet climbing into the inky-black night caused him to look up. An encroaching, marine layer of fog masked all but the jet’s navigation, strobe, and landing lights moving across the sky from east to west.

He boarded the employee bus and waited an excruciating three minutes before it departed. Other than his brief encounter with the cop, the short bus ride to the terminal would be his first contact with people.

He contemplated telling someone of his predicament; possibly passing a note with his home address, asking them to call for help. He surveyed the faces of employees; mostly crewmembers and maintenance workers preparing for the graveyard shift. There was not enough time. What if the lunatic had someone on the inside working with him—riding the bus? All it would take is a phone call and his family would be dead. Every urge he had to cry out for help was snuffed out by his unwillingness to risk the lives of his family. There had to be a way.

The employee bus jerked and jolted as it crossed the ramp and joined a service road that paralleled a taxiway. Tugs pulling multiple baggage carts, like little trains, whizzed past, racing to take passenger bags to their connecting flights.

The bus slowed as it approached a B-767, the jet’s taxilight carving a path into the night, its engines spooling up to push the monstrous machine forward. Ryan gazed up at the silhouettes of the two pilots in the cockpit, appearing relatively small in comparison to the machine they piloted. Soon he would be in their place, taxiing his plane for takeoff on a mission of death. The lunatic had made it clear—“You have a choice to make. You either do as I say, or your family dies. It’s that simple.”

As far as he knew, his every step was being watched. The tracking device on his car would show that he’d arrived at the employee lot. No outgoing calls had been placed from his cell. The freak must be happy. The only question haunting Ryan was if the lunatic had kept his end of the bargain. Was his family
all
still alive?

Then, out of nowhere, the idea hit him. Perhaps it was a gift from
Wee
Willie
Winkie
, or
Diddle
Diddle
Dumpling
, or perhaps, even, the
Man
in
the
Moon
, himself. He now had a plan, a long shot, but a plan. If it worked, he could save his family
without
endangering the lives of hundreds of innocent people.

The bus stopped. He jumped up, almost knocking a flight attendant down. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Eager to see what awaited him in his mailbox, Ryan rushed off to flight operations.

CHAPTER 22

9:16 p.m.

The family room at the Mitchell house looked more like an intensive care unit than a place of refuge and peace from the struggling world outside. Fear, not peace, filled the air—fear of an unknown future.

“He made it,” the little man called out. “The car is in the lot.”

Samael left Keri’s side and moved to the computers. He leaned down, his face inches from the screen. “Finally.”

He raised up and patted the top of the second computer—the one monitoring the progress of the jet. “Make sure the car stays put, and start focusing your attention on this one. I want to know the second the jet backs off the gate, or if that car moves.” Samael brought his watch on his left wrist up close to his eyes and checked the time—9:18. “I’ll call Mitchell, once he’s had time to read my instructions.”

From Keri’s position, with the back of her gurney raised at a forty-five degree angle, she could clearly see both computer screens. The albino had more than likely positioned her that way on purpose so she could “fabricate” some more fear. She rolled her head to the left, David appeared to be asleep, his breathing steady. Martha was also asleep and breathing, a slight smile on her face. The thought of the albino’s next move caused her heart rate to take off. She breathed deep to accommodate her racing heart’s demand for oxygen. The sticky tape glued across her mouth forced her to draw air solely through her nose. Salty tears burned her eyes.

“The albino moved to Keri’s side. “Are you comfortable, dear?”

She narrowed her eyes in anger, wanting to curse the man. A muffled noise groaned in the back of her throat like an angry Pit Bull.

“I would be more than happy to remove the tape, but it appears you need a bit more time to calm down. You’re a feisty one to be so small, much more so than your friend, Emily Dean.” He stared off at the ceiling in thought. “If I recall, she was much more passive, almost submissive. Killing her was much like killing a sacrificial animal. She squirmed a bit at first, but who wouldn’t. I guess it was fear playing tricks on her mind.”

Keri struggled against her straps, grunting and groaning, wishing for just one of her arms to break free. Her fight was useless. She released her body, her chest heaving, her nose burning from rapid, sharp breaths, her eyes blurred and burning from the flood of fresh tears. The freak was torturing her on purpose, breaking her spirit.

“Keri, if I haven’t said so, yet, you have a lovely home. I think I’ll show myself around, if you don’t mind.”

* * *

Amid all the excitement, Samael had made the mistake upon his arrival of not thoroughly checking the house. The only possible visitors he might have missed at this hour would have been children invited for a sleepover, now hiding.

If one of Keri’s girlfriends had been upstairs when he arrived, possibly using the toilet, she might have attempted to call for help. If she’d attempted to use the house phone, she would have discovered it was dead. The thought made him question the stupidity of the phone company to install the phone box on the exterior of the house. Since no one had come to the door, he ruled out the possibility of a dawdling visitor having a cell phone, or if there had been a visitor at all.

The beige-colored carpet on the stairs showed signs of wear, indicating the house to be at least six-to-ten years old, maybe older. All three bedrooms were upstairs. He walked through each, checking the closets and underneath the beds.

Nothing.

The bathrooms and shower stalls were empty. A small study adjoined the master bedroom. A large oak desk with a high-back leather chair took up most of the space. The desk was cluttered with the usual assortment of pens, papers, unpaid bills, and notes scribbled on yellow sticky pads. At first, he assumed it to be Ryan’s office, though, a more careful examination showed signs the space was shared by Keri.

Bookshelves drew his attention—colored albums of matching size, all with neatly labeled spines:

OUR WEDDING

RYAN’S AVIATION CAREER

MARTHA

DAVID

FAMILY VACATIONS

HOLIDAYS

Samael pulled down the album labeled, OUR WEDDING, opened it, and examined the photos closely. He flipped through a few pages recognizing a younger Keri. The man standing beside her in the black tux, her arm interlaced in his, had to be Ryan. “Hmmm. Very handsome.” He then placed the album back on the shelf, ensuring to align its spine with the others.

He selected another one—RYAN’S AVIATION CAREER. Hoping for more interesting viewing, he moved to the leather chair and sat down, pushed aside an obstruction on the desk, and opened the album. Starting at the beginning, he slowly turned the 12x12 laminated pages, taking time to study the pictures, reading the neatly penned journaling—no doubt a woman’s writing; Keri’s, he suspected.

The pages told a story of a young man’s love for flying. Samael estimated that the boy in the first picture, with the big grin, standing beside the small single-engine plane, could not be more than twenty years old. The entry beside the picture read
Ryan’s
First
Solo
. A few pages forward revealed an older, more mature Ryan, in a military flight suit, under one arm a helmet, the other leaning against a U.S. Navy, F-14 fighter jet. “Ryan, you must be so proud of yourself.”