Flight to Freedom (Flight Trilogy, Book 3) (16 page)

After traveling out of the country and eating airline food, Ryan would appreciate a good home-cooked meal. He loved salmon. Trader Joe’s had a fantastic recipe for Mojito Salmon—Wild Pacific Salmon with a Mojito marinade of lime, cilantro, and tomato. She planned to serve the salmon atop brown rice with a spinach salad mixed with walnuts, dried cranberries, and edamame beans.

* * *

Ryan took Interstate 405 and Interstate 5 instead of the toll road, hoping to add a few minutes to his trip home. If he arrived too early, it might create some awkward questions. He had told Keri the San Salvador flight would land at LAX at one p.m. She would be expecting him home at about three o’clock—considering the drive to be an hour, plus an additional hour to clear customs, drop his kit bag in flight operations, and get to the employee parking lot,

He was living a lie. The normal excitement of returning home from a trip was replaced with shame. His lies were slowly building a wall between him and Keri—a prison cell of solitary confinement. The more he lied the thicker the wall became. His conscience—the last stopgap between right and wrong—was slowly eroding, lie by lie.

Before his trip to Georgia, he had no proof his
other
life was anything more than a dream, however, that all changed when he met John Dross.

Ryan was certain he had no knowledge of John Dross, Mercy Flight, or the three-story copper fish in front of Atlanta Fish Market except in his
other
life. The only place he could have ever seen or heard of any of them was in the life he lived with Keri after they moved to Georgia from California; the life that was now only a dream.

Keri knew John Dross, but she should have no recollection of the copper fish, just as she had no recollection of having ever moved to Georgia from California.

Tonight he would test her, simply to confirm he was not going crazy and his
other
life did actually exist.

His only knowledge of the big copper fish located in front of Atlanta Fish Market was in his
other
life, when he and Keri lived on Pharr Circle in Buckhead.

Since Keri does not remember having ever lived in the Pharr Circle condo, she should not have any remembrance of the copper fish, as the restaurant moved to Buckhead after Keri moved away.

If asked about the fish, Keri should have no recollection of it or Atlanta Fish Market. This will be one more way to confirm that the only place he could have acquired any memory of seeing the big fish was when he and Keri were living in the condo in Buckhead—in his
other
life.

He pulled into the driveway at 2:40 p.m.—a little earlier than she might have expected.

Keri met him at the door with a kiss and a big hug. “How was San Salvador?”

His head grew hot and his chest tightened at the thought of more lies. “I’m just glad to be home,” he said, managing to avoid a lie.

When he reached for his suitcase, he noticed his clothes scattered on the backseat. His heart raced. He had not anticipated Keri meeting him at the car when he arrived home. Keri watched, but said nothing. He ignored the loose clothes, grabbed his suitcase, closed the car door, kissed Keri, and nudged her away from the car.

“Aren’t you going to get your clothes out of the backseat?” she said.

He turned and looked, as though he had not noticed them before, and said, “Oh, I’ll get those later.”

Keri opened the car door. “Nonsense. Here, let me get them.” As she retrieved his pants and shirt, she failed to see a business card fall from the shirt pocket onto the garage floor. The card slid under the car.

That
was
John
Dross’s
business
card
.
That
was
close
.

As they entered the house, the pleasant aroma of a home-cooked meal smacked him in the face, adding thorns to his growing crown of guilt. As she often did on the days he returned from trips, Keri had prepared a special meal for him in an act of love. In return, all he had for her was more lies.

“While you unpack and change, I’ve got a few last-minute details to take care of in the kitchen. I hope you’re hungry. I made one of your favorite meals.”

“It smells great! What is it?”

“Mojito Salmon.”

Salmon
?
Again
?

“Fantastic!”

Ryan unpacked, showered, and slipped on jeans and a Polo shirt. He remembered John’s business card that had fallen from his pocket. Thankfully it slid under his car. If Keri had seen it, he would have been forced to spill the truth; how else could he have explained the card. For now, he was forced to continue living the lie.

* * *

After an early dinner, Ryan helped Keri clear the table and clean up the kitchen. “Thank you for an excellent dinner,” he said.

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Living on airline meals and strange food.”

“It’s not that bad. However, I do look forward to getting home and eating your cooking. I guess that’s what keeps me going.”

They moved into the den. “Where are David and Martha?” he said.

“David had a game, and Martha is at a friend’s house studying for a test. They should both be home in a couple of hours.”

Eager to quiz Keri, he said, “Keri, when was the last time you were in Buckhead?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

“Oh, my…I guess the last time I was in Buckhead was in April of 1987 for dad’s funeral.”

“Have you ever heard of Atlanta Fish Market in Buckhead?”

“No. Why?”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“So you don’t remember a restaurant with a statue of a thirty-foot copper fish in front of it?”

“Should I?”

“I guess not.”

“Why do you ask?”

I
knew
it
.
She’s
never
heard
of
it
.

“The copilot I flew with is from Atlanta,” he lied. “During the flight down to San Salvador, we were served fish. We started talking about the best place to eat fish and he mentioned Atlanta Fish Market in Buckhead. I was just wondering if you had ever heard of the place. They relocated to Buckhead in 1993, so I see why you haven’t.”

“I’m sorry, if I had known you had been eating fish all week, I would’ve prepared something else for dinner.”

“I loved what you prepared tonight. I might’ve been
served
fish, but that doesn’t mean I was
eating
fish. I hardly touched the fish on the plane. Actually, we started talking about good fish restaurants because the fish on the plane was so bad.”

“I’m sure Buckhead is not the same place we once knew. We should go back and visit sometime. You can take me to see the big fish.”

Now that he knew that Keri had no idea that Atlanta Fish Market existed put him one step closer to solving his dream puzzle. “That sounds like a great idea.”

On Monday he planned to call Lewis at the Starbucks in Buckhead to see if the woman named Angela got his note. He would then call John Dross and coordinate a flight to Atlanta for the following weekend of the 26th and 27th. Assuming the woman named Angela was the same woman he knew to be Angel, he would finally learn if she was the key to his life-altering dreams.

The strong sense of déjà vu he experienced during those dreams was too real to ignore and the risk too great to sit around and do nothing. He needed to meet with Angel one last time to ensure that the horror of May 29, 2003, never happens.

CHAPTER 22

Southern
California

Easter
Sunday
morning
—
April
20
,
2003

Ryan sipped his coffee on the patio, enjoying the stillness of the morning. A hummingbird darted then hovered, probing his needle-like beak deep into a flower searching for nectar.

In years past, instead of a hummingbird, Ryan would have been watching David and Martha dart around in the backyard like explorers searching for treasure.

This was the first year the kids had outgrown hunting for colored, plastic eggs filled with candy and coins. The tradition ended when they were spotted scampering around the yard in their pajamas by classmates eager to spread the word at school. Even Keri’s offering to stuff a ten-dollar bill in the golden egg was not enough to tempt them.

Ryan’s thoughts drifted to the events of last week. Lewis, at the Buckhead Starbucks, should have given the note to the customer named Angela. He was almost certain that Angela was his Angel. He would call on Monday to get a report.

“Beautiful morning,” Keri said.

“Perfect.”

Keri sat in the rocker beside him. “I always remember Easter being just like this in Georgia—perfect weather with beautiful new growth on all the trees and flowers. I especially loved the azaleas and dogwoods blooming.” She sipped her coffee as she gazed into the yard.

“I was just thinking about all the things I looked forward to as a kid; one of them being Easter, as the official day I was allowed to go barefoot. I also remember my mom wanting to dress me up for church. I hated it.”

She turned to him. “I’ve seen some of those pictures. You looked cute in your little white suit and black and white shoes.”

He shot her a disapproving glare followed by a smile. “I’ll bet Barbara Ann had fun playing dress up with you, too.”

“For her, it was a competition—or a contest among all the mothers who had little girls.”

“I’m sure it was.”

“I miss the South at this time more than ever; makes me a little bit homesick.”

Hearing Keri talk about the South tugged on his heart. During his trip to Georgia, he had similar feelings. The dogwoods and azaleas were in bloom, the people were more engaging and talkative than they were in California; even the familiarly thick air was oddly refreshing—all the things that made him remember “home”. He wanted Keri to join him when he returned to Georgia, but she couldn’t.

“I guess we’d better start getting ready for church,” she said, as she stood. “You know how crowded it is on Easter Sunday.”

Ryan turned up his coffee cup, finishing the last cold sip. “Yeah, you’re right.”

* * *

Just as Keri had predicted, the church was packed. The added pew takers were mostly out-of-town guests of regular members and twice-a-year attendees—folks who made a special effort to show their spirituality on two days each year—Christmas and Easter.

The congregational singing lasted two songs longer than usual and was followed by a moving offertory solo by Gladys Hooper,
Via
Doloroso
.

Ryan expected Pastor Fisher to preach a version of the typical Easter sermon highlighting the miraculous Resurrection of Jesus segued into a message of how Jesus’ death was the substitution for the sins of all mankind. A strong close would include a charge to the congregation, urging every person to put their trust in Jesus and receive Him as their personal Lord and Savior, ensuring them of eternal life in Heaven.

As Pastor Fisher moved toward the pulpit, Ryan glanced at the bulletin. The sermon topic read:
Angels
in
Our
Lives
. The word
Angels
piqued his curiosity. He definitely had an Angel in his life—or at least a woman named Angel.

The pastor opened his Bible and laid it on the pulpit. He then stepped away and stood in front of the audience—a rarity, as he never left the safe confines of his large walnut pulpit.

He opened with a question: “Do angels really exist?”

He paused, allowing the crowd to contemplate his question as he paced in front of them. He stopped abruptly and turned toward the blank and befuddled faces.

“If they exist, can you see them? Are angels good or bad? What is their purpose? Are they among us now?”

He spread his arms in the air like a bird. Turning his extended arms into imaginary wings, he flapped them up and down. “Do they have wings?” He moved quickly from left to right on the stage, jumping up and down, while flapping his arms. “Do they fly around us? Are they watching over us?”

Slightly embarrassed for the reverend, Ryan looked to his right at a white-headed woman in her 90s. She appeared somewhere between spellbound and shock, as did much of the audience. Fisher was in uncharted territory. As a meat-and-potatoes preacher, angelology was definitely not on his typical Sunday menu.

After a few passes across the stage, Fisher “flew” back to his pulpit, having gained the attention of every onlooker—especially the biannual attendees.

“The Bible tells us angels do exist,” he said, “and yes, sometimes you can see them. There are good angels and bad angels. The good angels are God’s messengers on assignments to help people in a variety of ways. Bad angels work for evil purposes trying to tempt people to sin and glorify themselves, not God. The good and bad angels are at war here on earth—fighting for your soul! As far as the wings are concerned, wings are not necessary, and you never know when you might meet an angel, as they mostly appear on earth as humanoids. They are probably among us now—perhaps sitting next to you. Hebrews 13:2 cautions:
Do
not
forget
to
show
hospitality
to
strangers
,
for
by
so
doing
some
people
have
shown
hospitality
to
angels
without
knowing
it
.”

At this point, Fisher had the audience sitting on the edge of their seats, looking around, examining strangers for hidden wings or retractable halos.

He continued, “First Timothy 6:16 reveals that humans can't see God directly. But Hebrews 1:14 declares that God sends angels to help people who will one day live with Him in Heaven. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you…are you one of those people who plan to see God in Heaven? If you are, say amen!”

A weak response drifted from scattered voices among the crowd. “Amen. Amen. Amen.”

Fisher pushed the crowd. “I say again! Do you plan to live one day with God Almighty in Heaven? If so, say AMEN!”