Falling(20)

Jo knew Bill wasn’t going to crash the plane. Her trust in him was bedrock. No, that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was, she was afraid he couldn’t trust her.

The terrorist would kill his family if they told the passengers. That was clear.

But how could the flight attendants not tell them? How could they not give these innocent people every advantage they could to protect themselves from their own peril? Keeping it from them, making choices for them, taking away their autonomy. It didn’t sit right. It didn’t seem fair.

Stop.

Jo shut out the line of reasoning by ripping the interphone off the cradle. They would protect the passengers, they would figure it out. But they would do it without telling them. She couldn’t betray Bill like that.

She watched the other two flight attendants in the back galley. Kellie was holding a tray with drinks on it. She laughed at a joke from her coworker before walking off to deliver the drinks. Jo envied their ignorance.

When she pushed a button, a green light lit up in the back with a high-low chime. Jo watched her colleague cross the galley and pick up the phone.

“Housekeeping.”

“Hey, Daddy,” Jo said. “Look, we—”

She stopped herself. Not over the phone. She needed to tell them in person.

“Grab Kellie and come up here. We need to talk.”





CHAPTER SIX


CAREFUL OF THE SUICIDE VEST, Carrie brought her arm closer to her face.

The skin was wet but unscathed.

The old tea bag, the one from Sam’s first cup, sat in a puddle on the desk. The rest of the old, chilled tea soaked the front of Carrie’s shirt and pants. Her own screams of terror echoed through her head, haunting her by how unnecessary they were.

When Sam grabbed her arm, her hands had still been tingling with warmth from the hot mug she had just given him. She knew how hot that water was. She expected incredible pain. So when the liquid hit her skin, her thermoreceptors went wild, sending shockwaves of reaction throughout her body. It was only momentarily, but it took that second for her brain to register the temperature sensations as cold, not hot. By the time she’d figured out Sam’s sleight of hand, the call with Bill had already been disconnected. The last image he had seen was his wife being tortured. Or so he thought.

Please don’t do anything stupid, Bill. I’m fine. Stay strong. Don’t give in. He didn’t hurt me. Babe, please. Don’t give in.

It wasn’t so much a prayer. More a plea she hoped he would somehow intuit.

The family computer made a noise.

“Did he do it?” Sam said from the kitchen. Carrie looked over at the screen. Her inbox had a new message with a large attachment. She nodded.

“Smart man,” Sam said, walking back to the family. “How about some entertainment?” Opening the email, he started the video. Her husband’s face appeared on the screen while his voice filled the silence of the family home. Carrie listened, but she couldn’t look.

Instead, she watched Sam.

Taking a sip of the fresh tea Carrie had brought him, he winced, blowing into the steam. Tossing the old tea bag into the now empty mug, he brought it to the kitchen, placing it in the sink like an overly courteous houseguest.

Sam returned with a dish towel, wordlessly mopping up the desk before taking her pale, slender arm in his hands. Wiping it dry, he worked the towel in one hand, while the other held on to the detonator. He looked down at her soaked jeans. Blinking, he turned away, placing the towel in her bound hands. He disappeared into the downstairs bathroom, but returned moments later with a tissue. Scott bounced his sister softly, the baby finally quiet after crying herself into exhaustion. Snot ran down the boy’s face onto the gag in his mouth. He had cried nearly as hard as Elise when Sam grabbed his mother’s arm.

Walking over to the boy, Sam placed the tissue over his nose.

“Blow,” he said. Scott blew and the man folded the tissue, wiping the child’s upper lip.

Bill’s voice, breaking with emotion, was unavoidable. Carrie turned.

“On behalf of America… and on behalf of my family… I come before you with Kurdish blood on my hands and ask the Kurdish people for forgiveness through my sacrifice and the sacrifice of Flight four-one-six.”

The video stopped and Carrie stared for a long while at the frozen image of her husband’s face. Looking away, she found Sam watching her.

She held his gaze. A charged energy filled the distance between them as they tried to read one another. Carrie could tell her reactions, or lack thereof, were not what he’d expected. What she couldn’t tell was whether that was a good thing or not. He didn’t seem angry or hostile, not with her or the children. No, he seemed… curious. That was as close as she could place it. He seemed to be putting her together like a puzzle, like he was gradually discovering what piece fit where.

“When I told your husband it wasn’t personal, I meant it.”

Her lips hugged the gag without moving.

Meandering through the kitchen, Sam seemed to consider the space at a sort of clinical distance. He opened the silverware drawer, closing it before repeating the step with the one that held the cooking utensils. Pausing at the fridge, he tilted his head to the side while looking at the pictures and children’s artwork. He studied Scott’s report card with an approving glance over his shoulder before leaning in to examine the family calendar. He pointed at today’s date.