You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Revised Chapters' category.
Neal stood in the shower, letting the steamy water run through his hair and down his body. He swept his thick blond locks back from his face, tilting his head back in the water. Neal scrubbed, getting sand out of his hair and ears. The granules collected in a swirl around the drain, slowly being pulled down by the flow. He had his eyes closed, feeling the warm fingers of water on his skin, smiling to himself at the luxury.
He emerged from the bathroom in a borrowed bathrobe and walked to the guest-room he was sharing with Owen. His roomie was similarly dressed, looking out the window at the extensive gardens behind the house.
“Hey,” Neal nodded.
“Hey. I was thinking of getting some food, what do you think?”
“I’ll be down in a bit, sure.” Neal smiled, and Owen nodded, heading out the door. Neal walked to the same window, looking down at the big garden in the back, with a fantastic pool in the centre. He couldn’t get over how nice this place was.
There was a soft knock at the door. He turned towards it.
“Come in.”
Lamb opened the door a short way, peeking in.
“Everybody decent? I don’t want to intrude…”
“Oh, Mr. Lamb. Sure, sure, come in. I was just admiring your garden.”
“Ah, yes. Thank you. Neal, I was wondering if you had a moment?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Neal, my lad, you seem to be the most mature of the group, am I right in assuming that you’re the oldest? Earlier you seemed to be the spokesperson.”
Neal blushed a little and grinned. “I guess. I’m a few months older than Owen, the two of us are the oldest. It wasn’t intentional, but I’ve kind of been in charge since the plane. It’s not like there was an election or anything.”
“Oh, no, no, there wouldn’t be. You come across as a natural leader. They want to follow you, Neal. I feel fairly certain that they’d rely on your opinion, seek your advice, regardless of any elected position.”
Neal felt his spine straighten. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s kind of always been like that with us. I just never thought about it.”
“Well, I noticed right away. Because of it, I thought that I’d ask you something. The press is going to want to meet all of you, once they find out you’re alive. It’s a bit of a miracle that you survived.”
“The press? Really?”
“Well sure! The hurricane was big news, and the eight of you coming back will no doubt cause a stir. But I think it’s something we can manage ourselves, if we try. How would you feel about organizing a press conference? That way it can be done and over with, on your terms, instead of a feeding frenzy of reporters and photographers later.”
“A press conference? I’ve never done anything like that.”
“You just listen to their questions, and give thoughtful responses. It never hurts to tell a few jokes, or appeal for sympathy. Win the crowd over. Viewers like to see human beings dealing with adversity with strength and vulnerability at once.”
Neal’s brow furrowed with thought. “A balance, right? Like, showing that it was hard, but that you’re dealing with it.”
“Exactly.”
“I think I get the concept, but I’m not sure about meeting so many reporters and answering questions so soon.”
“Don’t worry,” Lamb smiled, “I’ll teach you.”
They weren’t on the road very long before Evan Kimball fell asleep in the back seat. He curled up in his coat in the corner while staring out the window, and then that was it. Gone.
“That was quick,” Daniel Calhoun said with a chuckle. “It’s my fault really, I’ve been bugging him all day.”
“That’s why I took a nap,” Ethan said, steering through traffic.
“You’re not pissed I woke you early, are you?”
Ethan stared straight ahead, navigating a lane change.
“If I was, it’s a little late to be sorry, isn’t it?”
Dan shrugged. “I just get carried away. I can’t help it, I’m pumped! But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad later.”
“I really didn’t care one way or the other. But Evan was trying to tell you not to disturb the floor; people could have been studying.”
“If they’re studying on a Friday night, then they deserve to be disturbed!” Dan grinned. “We don’t have class for a whole week, they can still party until Monday and then do their lame homework. Yeah, Reading Week!”
“If you cheer again, I will let Evan strangle you for waking him,” Ethan smiled.
“There you go! Man, you just need to lighten up sometimes. This will be good for you.”
Ethan nodded, “I hope so.”
After a few minutes of driving, Dan glanced at the sleeping Evan. “Okay, seriously, I need to ask you something.”
“Oh?”
“Why was I invited on this trip?”
“Why would you ask that? You’re our friend.”
“Yeah, well, other than Evan and Alex, I didn’t think I was all that close to anybody. I mean, you and I have been hanging out since last year, but it’s not like we were buds in high school.”
“Well, consider Alex your ticket in. He’s the one who convinced his uncle to give us the chalet this week. But why would you even worry about it?”
“I just feel so lame hanging out with Jay and Evan when they’re talking church stuff with Neal and Owen. I mean, they’re pretty hardcore about it. The only reason I ever went to their stupid church was to be in the band with Alex and Evan.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I don’t think any of them are pressuring you to be devout.”
“No, I don’t mean it like that. I just mean, how does anybody believe in that stuff? There’s science! Come on, evolution and astronomy show that the Bible is full of crap. I don’t even understand why you go to church with them, I’ve seen the books you read. Dawkins, Stephen Jay Gould, quantum mechanics stuff, you love science. I’m surprised it’s not your major.”
Ethan was quiet for a few moments. “You’re right, I do love science. It’s orderly, and makes sense of a lot of things. It all breaks down from one source. The light of the Big Bang, separating from the singularity and forming stars and planets, the very molecules of our bodies are made of stardust. Physical and chemical reactions, everything comes down to mathematics, the ‘how’ of the universe is almost explainable.”
“Right. So what’s with church? Frigging praying and faith, it’s a bunch of magical thinking,” Dan scoffed.
“Ah, but the interesting thing about quantum mechanics is that everything boils down to clouds of probability. Possibilities. Light influencing light in random ways, a push here, a pull there. Everything is made of light, even our thoughts are electrical energy that have a quantum effect. Some things I’ve been reading indicate thoughts are a quantum event, having a physical impact on the world. So ‘magical thinking’ might work sometimes. We can convince our bodies to be sick when we’re depressed, and we can heal them through optimism and happiness. That’s just one example.”
“Sounds like New Age bullshit to me.”
“Perhaps. But I’m talking real scientific studies. Scientists put people in sensory deprivation chambers, and told them to think about an image. Someone else was put in a chamber next to them, and were told to report what they started daydreaming about. In a statistically significant portion, the daydreamers saw the same things the ‘projectors’ were thinking about. The odds improved if the daydreamer was an extrovert, seeking outer stimulation. It’s like they snatched the other person’s thoughts out of the air. Introverts thought about their own dreams.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying, man.” Dan’s brow was furrowed.
Ethan smiled. “I mean that, we’re all walking, talking balls of light. Like icebergs floating in the ocean: we’re made of the same material, but look distinct. We believe we’re distinct. But we’re just islands in oceans of light, with self-awareness. But I think religion is an attempt to become aware of us being a part of the ocean too, universally connected.”
“New Age crap again!” Dan said.
“Maybe it sounds like it, but it’s science. We’re all part of that original singularity in new forms. Like ice and water, the same thing. So, if we’re self-aware islands of light, it’s easy to jump to the idea that maybe the ocean itself is aware, and that’s what church calls ‘God.’ Maybe.”
“So you believe? Like, Jesus was real?”
“I don’t ‘believe’ anything. I have ideas, things I wonder about. ‘Belief’ implies to me certainty, and I’m never certain. I wasn’t there, I haven’t met Jesus, it’s a story that I can’t prove. But I try to learn from it, like any story, because of what it tells me. I still like reading Superman comic books for the same reason. Stories are symbols for real world possibilities. And I’d prefer to think about compassionate people, heroic people, than about hurting others. The stories have meaning, regardless of historical accuracy.
“And, if the Gospels are real, I’m open to that possibility. I’m willing to learn. I’d like to think that I’m a Christian because I was born in a Christian town, and that if I was born in India, I’d be Hindu. They’re different languages about the same universe, and so is science. They are pathways to truth, without being the Truth itself. I have no problem reading on evolution and then enjoying Zen koans or the Torah. I have had my own spiritual experiences, and on some days I think they’re just in my head, and on others I find myself with faith. I figure I could meet angels and wonder if they’re outward manifestations of inner needs, or a real encounter. I’d never be sure, because of the slippery nature of our minds and the quantum probabilities of the universe.”
“Whatever man, that’s way too much heavy thinking for me. At least you’re not hardcore like Jason, jumping at shadows and clinging to a book.”
“I like books, too. Even the Bible. Books can change the way we think, the way we look at the world. Science can tell you how the universe works, but books and stories try to find why it’s here. I think that’s more important to me, so that’s why I’m majoring in English Lit and taking philosophy courses. But I’m also taking some science as electives.”
“I think this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had,” Dan said.
“At least, one that didn’t involve you talking about a girl’s ass for twenty minutes.”
Dan laughed so hard he woke Evan.
People milled about, finding seats and putting baggage into the overhead compartments. Ethan felt a tug on his sleeve.
“Dude, have you got a second?” Alex asked him in a soft voice.
“Sure, what’s up?”
Alexander Rothrock looked from side to side, and then nodded to indicate Ethan should walk further down the aisle, away from their friends.
“Excuse me… pardon me… sorry, sorry… excuse me, sorry about that… oops, pardon me…” Ethan navigated through the other passengers gingerly, as if trying to avoid touching anyone. Eventually, he and Alex were standing by the bathroom door, out of the way of everyone else.
“So, what’s up?” Ethan asked again.
Alex blushed and shrugged his shoulders. “I have something to ask you. And it’s not about the Mile High Club.” He nodded towards the door.
“What?” Ethan glanced at the door and then back at his friend. “I don’t get it.”
“Never mind, bad joke. I just meant that I have something to ask you, but it’s nothing weird. Well, it’s a little weird. I mean, I can’t believe I’m going to ask…”
“Slow down, Alex.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m rambling. Anyway, I wanted to ask you about Genevieve.”
“Are you finally going to ask her out?” Ethan said frankly.
“Whoa!” Alex’s blush deepened. “I mean, don’t just blurt that out like that! But yes, I was going to ask you if it would be okay. It’s weird, because we’ve been friends forever, and she’s your sister, but yeah, I want to know if it’s okay.”
Ethan appraised him carefully, not speaking for a moment.
“Why now?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had a crush on her through most of high school. You dated other people, and so did she, but there was plenty of opportunity. Why now?”
“You knew about that?” Alex spluttered.
“Of course I knew. I know everything. There’s a reason I’m the quiet one of the group, I get to hear and see everything.”
“I guess. I didn’t realize you were that observant.”
“That’s the other thing about being the quiet one, Alex. I keep secrets really well. You don’t have to worry about anyone finding out. When you’re ready, feel free to talk to Evie. It would be great to have one of my best friends dating my sister. Better you than some random jerk. I appreciate you asking.”
“Right, thanks. Wow.” Alex took a deep breath. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“You still didn’t answer me. Why now?”
“Oh. That’s stupid. I feel like a kid saying this. I noticed that Eve had a crush on Neal, like back when we were in the eleventh grade and she was in tenth. Just the way she would look at him sometimes. I didn’t want to be second prize, since he didn’t notice her at all. Now, we’re all adults, we go to different schools, all that stuff is behind us.”
“It’s not a competition anymore.”
“Well, more like I can compete on my own terms. I’m the captain of my school’s hockey team, I get good grades, I’m not in Neal’s shadow. Maybe she’ll see me for me.”
Ethan paused for a moment again.
“I hope it works out for the best.”
Zoë returned to school a changed woman. She walked holding her books close to her chest, eyes staring at the floor. Occasionally she would take furtive glances at her surroundings, like a rabbit sniffing for predators. Friends who were accustomed to her warm greetings and frequent hugs whispered to each other when she walked past them in school corridors. Friends who knew better whispered back about the plane crash.
When Zoë did notice these little exchanges, the pity in the eyes of the latter group was somehow worse than the shock of those who thought she was being rude. Like she was fragile or broken. It stung because she believed it was true.
It had taken every ounce of her courage to live in a world without her mother. She didn’t know how to face one without her entire family. Her father had withdrawn into himself, stumbling through days like a zombie. However, it had been his idea that she return to school: he had insisted that they both need activities to occupy their minds. He had gone back to work, and so she had gone back to university.
Rationally, she knew he was probably right. Given time, most wounds healed. If she had any hope for the future, ditching school and losing her chance at being a teacher would not be very productive. However, in Zoë’s heart there was an empty feeling, and the void said she would never want a future again.
“What’s the point of a world where everything can be taken away?” She raged to Hope over the phone one night at the end of February.
“I don’t know. This can’t be easy for you, and I won’t pretend to know how it feels. But in a world where anything can be taken away at a moment’s notice, I think we have two choices. We can be afraid of loving, or we can embrace it and cherish what we have, for as long as we have it.”
“That’s easy for you to say, no one in your family died,” Zoë said, and immediately regretted it. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s how you feel. You’re right; it’s not my family. But these are my friends, people I’ve known most of my life. They matter to me. And they might not be dead, Zoë, have you considered that? They still haven’t found the plane; they might just be stranded in the mountains somewhere. It could happen.”
Zoë felt so tired. “I just… I don’t know. I had this feeling, the day you called and told me to turn on the television. I got all cold when the phone rang, like I knew it was going to be bad news. It felt like the night my mother died, all over again.”
“You mean like a premonition?” Hope asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if things like that even happen in real life. But maybe, yeah. I feel like something bad happened.”
Hope paused audibly. “What if… what if you just felt that something bad was happening.”
“What does that mean?” Zoë asked, not seeing a distinction.
“Just bear with me. What if, with your mom and the boys, you felt like something bad was happening, like they were in trouble. But that doesn’t have to mean the boys are dead. I don’t think they are. I think I’d feel it, if they were all gone.”
“Yeah, and my dad calls wishful thinking like that ‘denial.’ I don’t know what to believe.”
“So don’t believe anything yet. Just wait and see. Okay?”
“Okay.” Zoë shrugged to herself. “I’ll try.”
It was easy to think that Hope was just trying to be a good friend, but somehow she did feel better. Zoë thought about what Hope said about cherishing the people she cared about, and decided to go find some of her friends here at school. After all, most of them had shown concern, even if she’d preferred to spend time by herself. Maybe they’d like the chance to know she’d noticed.
Zoë’s world changed again six years later. She was in her room, researching a term paper. Unlike her brother, she was using her Reading Week to study. Of course, she was a few months away from graduation. Neal still had the rest of the year before he had to “take school and the real world seriously,” as he had put it before leaving.
She envied him his perspective. At the same time, she looked forward to graduation and then teacher’s college. And for that, she needed exemplary grades.
In the middle of a tricky paragraph in her textbook, the telephone started to ring down the hall. An inexplicable shiver began in her chest and pin-pricked its way up her spine to the base of her neck. She got up from her desk slowly and came to her door. She peeked out, and looked down the hall.
The phone kept ringing, sitting on the hall table. Zoë bit her lip and walked towards it. She stuck out her hand, and cringed when the phone rang as she was about to pick it up. She wondered what she was scared of.
“Hello?” Zoë said, putting the receiver to her ear.
“Good morning, Zoë,” Her best friend, Hope, answered.
“Hope, it’s you! What a relief. I had the weirdest feeling just now…”
“Zoë, have the boys left on that ski trip yet?” Hope asked, her voice flat.
“They left last night, on a red-eye. Why?” Zoë asked. For a moment, she had thought she was just being paranoid. Now, with Hope’s question, she was worried again. Something was wrong.
“Turn on the television,” Hope replied.
Zoë carried the portable phone with her down the stairs, entering the family room with the big screen television. She turned it on.
“…freak storm, which has meteorologists baffled. The city of Vancouver is experiencing flooding and water damage at unprecedented levels. Outlying communities have yet to report in, but authorities estimate millions of dollars worth of damage…”
Zoë muted the news commentator, hardly daring to look at pictures behind the anchorwoman that featured flooded streets, downed trees, and devastated houses.
“What is this?” Zoë asked Hope.
“There was a hurricane. It’s been on every channel this morning; it hit B.C. really hard last night. Have you heard from your brother?”
Zoë took a deep breath. “No.” It was like the night of her mother’s accident all over again. She wondered what odd instinct had told her, with the ringing of the phone, that death once again was being carried over the wires.
“I don’t want you to panic, but I would try calling your chalet, and the airline. That whole area is in chaos. I’m really worried about them.”
“You and me both.” Zoë ran her fingers through her hair, brushing it back from her face. She struggled not to cry.
“Zoë, I’ll be home tomorrow from school. I’ll talk to you then and hopefully we’ll know more.”
“Okay.” Zoë rubbed her hand across her face, cutting off the sniffles before they could start. She didn’t want to cry, not on the phone. She held it in.
The crying didn’t start until the airline informed her father that the plane never reached Vancouver. She sat at the kitchen table that night while her father spoke with them. She rested her head on her outstretched arm, while he held her hand, occasionally giving her reassuring squeezes.
It’s not the worst day of my life, she thought to herself. This time, I knew what it was like to lose someone. Sooner or later, this happens to everyone.
But that was cold comfort.
When Zoë Osborne was sixteen, her world changed.
She had previously lived in security. Her father made more than enough money to provide for his family as a Bay Street corporate lawyer. Her mother was one of those vibrant women who embraces her children unconditionally, runs charity events and bakes cookies. The Osbornes lacked for nothing. Zoë was a straight-A student, Neal excelled at sports. They themselves joked that their lives were a cliché, albeit a happy one.
Then it changed. It was in March, when the weather could shift between spring and winter with little warning. She had been sitting on the plush chair in the living room, cuddled into the armrest, reading The Grapes of Wrath for school. She had been alone in the house. Her father had taken Neal and Alex to their hockey game. Jason was at a friend’s house, working on a class project.
The boys had been staying at their house. Mr. Shelagh had a conference in Vancouver, and her aunt had gone with him for the trip. This night, the night of the change, they were returning home. Mrs. Osborne had driven out to the airport to pick them up. They were supposed to pick up dinner and meet everyone back at the house to hear about the hockey game and trip.
Zoë had been engrossed in the book, and so it took her a moment to realize the phone was ringing. She put the book face down on the chair, to keep her page. The nearest telephone was in the kitchen. She took it off the receiver, leaning against the doorframe and staring out the window. The icy weather had turned to rain since she’d sat down to read, dark trickles of water ran down the glass as she looked out at the night.
“Hello?” She said.
“Hello, is this the Osborne residence?” The voice at the other end was impersonal and unfamiliar.
“Yes it is. May I ask who’s calling, please?”
“This is the Metro Toronto police department. Is Mr. Osborne available?”
Zoë wrinkled her forehead. “I’m sorry, he’s not in at the moment. Can I take a message? Is this in regards to a case?”
”No, miss. It’s extremely urgent, is there any way to get in touch with him?”
Zoë glanced at the clock above the stove. It was almost seven-thirty. The game would be ending soon. “He should be home by eight. You could call back then, unless you’d care to leave your name and number? My mother should be home any minute, if you’d care to speak to her.”
There was a pause. Zoë felt an odd shiver cascade through her stomach and spine as it went on, as if the party on the other end of the line was hesitating. In the back of her mind, she knew that this person was hesitant to tell her bad news.
“Miss, it’s very important. Are you certain there’s no way to reach him sooner?”
“I suppose you could call the arena. My brother is playing at Kew Gardens, if you really need to contact him that quickly.” Zoë’s fingers had started playing with the phone’s cord, almost involuntarily. Pulling and tugging, fretting.
“Thank you, miss. I’ll try to call there, otherwise you said by eight?”
“Yes, that’s right. Though we expect my mother any moment.”
There was a pause for a second time. “Thanks again.”
Then came the finality of the dial tone. Zoë hung the telephone back in its cradle. She wrapped her arms around herself, sinking back into her chair after setting the book down on a nearby coffee table. She watched the rain fall, shivering.
At five minutes to eight the front door opened. Neal and Alexander bustled in, toting their hockey bags and wearing wet winter coats. Mr. Osborne was a step behind them, in a long brown trench coat.
“Take your stuff to the laundry room, boys,” he directed, as he rooted through the hall closet. Neal gave Alex a prod and got him moving.
“Hi, Daddy,” Zoë said quietly.
“Zoë, have you seen my umbrella?” He asked, barely glancing at her.
“It should be on the top shelf, on the left.”
“Ah, thank you! Here it is.”
“Daddy, are you going back out?”
He looked at her. “Yes, I got a phone call at the arena. I didn’t get many details, but I have to out for a bit. Sort this all out. Will you be all right here?”
“I think so. Will you be gone long?”
“I don’t know, dear, I’ll call once I know more.” He turned to the door, about to go out. “Has your mother called?”
Zoë shook her head. “Not yet. I’m worried.”
“Their flight was probably late, what with the rain. Nothing to worry about, dear. Help the boys find something to eat, and I’ll call in a bit to check in.”
He was out the door before she could say anything else.
The next time she saw her father, he was coming back in through the same doorway after midnight, his hair dishevelled, his dress shirt and tie rumpled. Zoë was waiting on the couch under blankets, unable to sleep. She saw her father sag against the doorway, and this moment of weakness made her certain.
“Mom’s dead, isn’t she?”
It was the first time she’d ever seen her father cry.
Eventually, after the crying and before the funeral, she had heard the details. How rain had slicked up the ice on the highway, how a car had slid into the wheels of a transport truck, which had subsequently slammed into Mrs. Osborne’s vehicle. She and her passengers were killed instantly, the car itself an unrecognizable mess.
But forever afterward, Zoë remembered that she had known with that telephone call. She had known something was wrong. Death entered her secure little world, and destroyed it, over a telephone wire.
She never did finish that Steinbeck novel.
Zoë’s Second Call - Next >>
The group laughed and chattered as they walked through the mall, each of them carrying bags of clothing. Simon walked in the midst of the small crowd with a small smile, seemingly happy to have brought them so much joy. They wandered past an HMV store, and Evan broke away from the group.
“Hey, Mr. Lamb, are we in any kind of a rush?”
“Not at all, Evan, why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just that I lost all my CDs on the plane. I was wondering if I could check out some of the albums in the store? I just want to see what’s come out while we were gone, and then we can get back to the limo.”
Lamb grinned. “Be my guest. Perhaps you’ll be able to explain young people’s music to an old fart like me.”
Evan smiled broadly and dashed into the store. The rest of the group followed, willing to kill some time. They spread out into different sections. Dan headed to the hip hop area, while Jason peeked through the gospel music. Genevieve wandered aimlessly, staring at the movie selection and wondering why a music store carried films. Alex and Neal argued over whose favourite rock band was better.
Evan was at the back, listening to song selections on headphones. Lamb wandered close to see what the youth was enjoying. He was startled when Evan started to sing along. His voice was clear and melodic, and had a ripple effect. First Simon stopped to listen, and then a pair of girls further down the same aisle. His voice reached Neal and Alex, and they stopped their disagreement to listen. Soon, the whole store was listening to Evan sing.
His eyes were closed, so when he stopped and hung the headphones back up, he was startled to find a store full of people staring at him.
“What? Did I fart?”
Dan burst out laughing, but Lamb ignored the comment.
“Evan, that was wonderful. I may not know a lot about music, but you have real talent. Why didn’t you tell me you were such an amazing singer?”
Evan shrugged. “Oh, I’m nothing special.”
“I beg to disagree. Do you have any other talents?”
“Well, I used to play guitar in a band with the others.”
“Why do you say ‘used to?’ When did you stop?” Lamb asked.
“Well, I didn’t stop, exactly. I lost my guitar on the mountain, I guess. Kind of hard to play without one.”
“I think we’re going to have to go instrument shopping, then.” Simon smiled, clapping an arm around the younger man’s shoulders. “You say the others play as well?”
“Sure. Dan loves the drums, Alex plays guitar too. Owen is great on bass.”
Genevieve turned to Jason while their host discussed music with Evan. She whispered quietly.
“I think he’s lying. Mr. Lamb has to know something about music. He owns part of two major record labels, alongside his production company and oil shares.”
“Eve, knowing music and owning a company are two very different things.” Jason looked at their friends. “Besides, he’s trying to be nice. I know Evan misses his music.”
“But why exactly does he have to buy all this stuff for us? It’s not like we’re family.”
“No, but he doesn’t have a family of his own, either. Can’t he just be a rich, lonely guy who wants to help a bunch of kids who are stranded far from home? We’re lucky to be alive, why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
“Seriously, who even says stuff like that anymore? ‘Gift horse.’ This isn’t Trojan, or anything.” Genevieve glared at her friend.
“Troy. At least you got it half right. I didn’t think you were paying attention in history class last year.”
“You’re one to talk,” Eve laughed, swatting his arm. “You slept through it!”
Lamb took them into the city in a limousine. Borrowed bathrobes were fine for an attention-grabbing impromptu television conference, but the group would need clothes. He dressed them into whatever he could find in his closets that would fit. His shirts and pants were in some cases a little baggy, but the only real problem was the bulky Daniel. He had to make do with an unbuttoned shirt and a tropical sarong wrapped around his waist, covering his desert-stained boxers.
“Anybody laughs, anybody, and I will personally throw you off a building,” he glared at his friends as they got into the car.
By the time they arrived at Vancouver’s Westfield Mall, Dan had recovered some of his confidence. He actually walked down the mall corridors flirting and grinning at young women as if he wore the sarong every day.
“I don’t know how he does that,” Jason whispered. Evan overheard him.
“You should see him at school. He walks down the hall to the bathroom wearing just a towel. Dan believes his pecs are God’s gift to women.”
“I didn’t know God was that mean,” Genevieve observed. This set the trio to giggling, but luckily Dan didn’t overhear them.
Lamb encouraged them to shop, telling them they could pick out anything they liked. His one proviso was that they show him what they wanted to wear. He picked a store, and the young men headed out. Dan and Alex let out semi-loud cheers of enthusiasm, revelling in Lamb’s generosity.
Genevieve looked around for Ethan before heading into the women’s section of the store. He seemed to have vanished into the clothing racks before she could get his attention. She hadn’t had much opportunity yet to speak with him, and she wondered if he was feeling any better since his spell of unconsciousness on the mountain.
She took her time deciding on what to buy. For one thing, there was so much selection. Bright colours abounded for spring and summer. For another, Eve was not entirely comfortable with Lamb’s generosity. What was motivating him?
Genevieve selected a few light dresses, a pair of jeans and a few tops. She made her way through the underwear selection, getting what she needed quickly before heading back to where she’d seen Lamb last, near the men’s clothing.
“Genevieve! Pssst, hey, Eve, does this look stupid?”
She turned to see who was trying to get her attention. Alexander was trying on a grotesquely coloured shiny shirt, which she guessed was someone’s idea of nightclub attire. The designer was likely on drugs or thought clients were stupid, she thought.
“Alex, no! Try something like this,” she grabbed a few t-shirts and some collared shirts with short sleeves. Her selections were much less garish. “I thought you had more sense than that.”
Alex grinned as she helped him tug the shirt over his arms. “Maybe it was just my way of getting your attention.”
She blushed. “And why would you want to do that?”
“I don’t know, maybe because…” Whatever his reason, Genevieve didn’t get to hear it. Neal called out to the two of them from the next aisle, interrupting Alexander’s words.
“Hey, you two, have you seen Owen come by here? He swiped my pants while I was looking at this pair of jeans in the mirror.”
Genevieve and Alex walked over to find Neal was wearing a pair of pants that were in a zebra pattern. Alex tried to hide his laughter behind his hand, but Eve couldn’t help but giggle into his shoulder.
“He dared me to! It’s not like I intended to buy them. But until I get the ones Mr. Lamb bought me back, I’m stuck wearing these!” Neal turned red.
“Dude, just get into a change-room. I will find you a pair of jeans or something,” Alexander said. “Eve, see if you can find Owen. Torture him if you have to.”
Genevieve turned to look for their friends, laughing all the way.
”I just wanted to say thanks again for inviting me, Neal.”
Neal Osborne looked over his shoulder at the girl in the backseat. “You’re welcome, Genevieve.”
He returned his eyes to the road, hands at two and ten. “Though, to be accurate, it wasn’t my idea. Alexander talked my dad into this trip. Not that I’m not glad we’re all going.”
“Because that was believable,” The red-headed young man beside Neal in the passenger seat piped up.
“I just think it’s a little presumptuous of him to ask, Owen. Eight people at once is a lot, when it’s not his cabin.” Neal steered through highway traffic while talking to his best friend.
“Alex has lived with your family since he was fourteen years old. It’s his cabin.” Owen Truman looked over his shoulder at Genevieve, “Don’t pay any attention to him.”
She smiled. “I don’t mind. I know I’m only invited because I’m Ethan’s sister. It’s not a big deal. I’ve never been to Whistler, so I’m grateful. Is it as pretty as they say?”
“Not as pretty as you,” Owen teased. “But it’s nice.”
“Owen!” Neal gave his friend an elbow while keeping his eyes on the road. “She’s Ethan’s little sister.”
He glanced at the pretty brunette in the backseat briefly, and then continued.
“Sorry, Owen lacks manners.”
“He’s not being rude. I don’t mind. I’m not that little anymore, Neal. I’m only two years younger than you are, remember?”
“So I’d shut up and try not to insult the pretty girl, comrade, unless you think being born in 1979 makes you an old man compared to the kids from the eighties.” Owen elbowed his friend back.
“Ooh, what were the seventies like? Can you tell us about them, grandpa?” Genevieve giggled. Neal blushed.
“I didn’t mean… Never mind. Shut up, Owen!”
All three of them laughed.
“Hey, can we make a pit-stop before Toronto?” Owen asked.
“What’s up?”
“Well, I need to take a leak, and besides, I promised Evan I’d hit a Subway or a Mr. Sub.”
“Late night snack before the flight? That’s a pretty good idea,” Genevieve said.
“Not exactly. I mean, I’m hungry, but Evan and I are scamming Daniel. It’s hard to explain.”
“What do you mean, ‘scamming Daniel?’ What does that have to do with sub sandwiches?” Neal asked.
“Dan’s not too quick on the uptake sometimes. Evan just plans to take advantage of that with a few well-timed bets. Never hurts to improve the odds once in awhile, and I get a cut of the proceeds.”
“That’s a great way to treat your friends!” Genevieve said, trying not to laugh.
Bonus Chapter - Different Car, Same Day
*** Author’s Note to Readers*** The following novel may contain themes of violence and occasional vulgar language. The most offensive chapters will have a warning like this one, and are rare. However, I would recommend to parents that they preview such chapters before allowing adolescents to read them, that’s just common sense.
A young man lay sprawled across a small bed that was just wide enough for one person. The bed lay in one corner of a small room with large bricks painted white, giving the room a very institutional feel. One wall of the corner, above his head, held a wall-mounted bookcase with textbooks and novels. The other wall of his corner held the only window. The room’s only further furniture was a desk and chair. A computer was on top of the desk. The dresser was crammed into the open closet to create floor space. A duffel bag lay on the floor in front of it.
The third wall of the little room was decorated with illustrations, featuring comic book and fantasy characters: mutants and elves, angels and ogres. The fourth wall had the door, which someone was currently knocking. The youth on the bed rolled over.
The knocking became pounding and he sat up.
“Ethan! Wake up! Come on, wake up!” Someone shouted through the door. He stared at it for a moment, his head cocked to one side, a strange little smile in the corner of his mouth.
He pulled on a tshirt that was draped over the chair and then pulled on jeans that had been lying in a crumpled pile on the floor. He waited at the doorway, peering into the peephole. He timed opening the door perfectly.
“Ethan! Whoooaaa!” Another young man toppled into the room, caught off balance by his next big swing. Instead of pounding the wood, he pounded himself into the carpet. Being over six feet tall and more than two hundred pounds, he hit it fairly hard.
“Dick!” He grinned, picking himself up. “Why didn’t you answer me, Ethan?”
Ethan looked at him with that same little smile. “I was dreaming.”
“Well, get your ass up!” The bigger youth grinned, punching him in the arm. “Grab your bags, we have to get moving.”
“I thought we agreed to meet at nine?”
Another young man appeared in the doorway. He had long dishevelled hair that seemed unable to make up its mind regarding its colour. It wasn’t quite blonde, nor was it quite brown.
“Dan’s a bit excited,” he said. “To put it mildly.”
“Yeah, and this fucker used my enthusiasm against me. Knocked me right onto the floor.” Dan playfully shoved Ethan, who showed no reaction in his face.
“He’s probably getting you back for last week.”
“What did I do last week, Evan?” Dan asked.
“The shaving cream incident? You covered his door and his bed.”
Dan laughed loudly, “I forgot about that. That was awesome.”
“Well, now you’re both even,” Evan said. “Can we get on with our lives?”
“I was trying to get Ethan up so we can leave. I don’t want to miss our flight, man.”
“We can leave now, if you really want to,” Ethan said. “I’ve been packed for days. We’ll just get there earlier than the others and have to wait.”
“Well, that’s better than just standing around this dump. School’s out, let’s rock!” Dan followed this comment with an enthusiastic bellow more suited to a crowded hockey arena after a game-winning goal than a university dormitory.
“Dan, I admire your passion, but you’re aware some people actually use Reading Week to study, aren’t you?” Evan smiled.
“Who gives a fuck?” Dan laughed. “Let’s go. I want to be the first one there.”
Ethan pulled on his boots and coat while his friends bantered, hardly listening. He hefted his duffel and followed them down the hallway.
“I bet Neal gets there before we do,” Evan said, talking about one of the friends they would be meeting at the airport.
“Uh uh, no way. We’re closer than he is, and we’re leaving earlier than we planned,” Dan said. “Twenty bucks says you’re wrong.”
“Deal.” Evan shook on it with his hefty friend. “I bet you another twenty that Owen is with Neal, and eating a sub sandwich while they wait for us.”
“A sub? Bullshit, easy money! I’ll take that bet. You couldn’t possibly know that.” Dan gleefully shook again. Evan shrugged.
“Owen likes snacks, what can I say. If I’m wrong on both counts, you just pocketed forty dollars.”
They stopped by Evan’s room and grabbed his gear, including his cherished guitar in a cloth gig-bag. Dan’s room was next door, so it wasn’t long before they were headed out of the building towards the parking lot.
“Crap, it’s snowing!” Dan said, tugging a hat over his dark hair as they walked through the school grounds.
“We’re going on a ski trip, Dan, better get used to it,” Ethan said. “There’s a lot of snow in the mountains.”
“And there’s a lot of snow-bunnies in Whistler. I am going to get so much ass this week!” Dan cheered.
“Pervert,” Evan laughed. Ethan strode ahead, finding his truck and tossing his bag into the back.
“Let’s roll, shall we?”
From the Journals of Ethan Keaton Pitney
All great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.
Albert Einstein
She came for me. That was the thought running through my mind, the overriding meaning of that moment, of all moments, for all eternity: she came for me. I was dying, bleeding and broken, and she came for me. All about me was snow and wind and biting frost and death, and still she came.
I had given up, you know. I had totally surrendered, the one thing I had thought I would never, ever do. I did it. I gave up. On me, on life, on the world, on God… I gave up on everything. It was just too hard. Too hard to dare to hope, to have any faith. I gave up.
I tried hard at first, even picked myself up by leaning against a statue. Once I was on my feet I tried to walk through the snow, but I fell, my knees too weak to hold me up. My blood painted the snow red, fierce and hot for a while. It then began to sink in and became pinkish smears, faintly tinting the white as more and more flakes fell from Heaven. Covering up my blood, my life, as if it had never been.
I refused to be erased so easily, so I started to crawl. Unable to walk, lost in the snow, even then I wasn’t ready to surrender. Somehow I dug down deep and found buried steel, a stubborn strength born of years of abuse that I had always managed to endure. Years were a lot longer than a single day, a single day couldn’t possibly beat me if years had not. I had refused to let the bullies at school erase me in the past, I wasn’t going to give up today without a fight.
It took every ounce of will, every shred of courage in me, to inch forward through the snowdrifts. Each breath was an agonizing chore, the cold gusts of air like minuscule knives invading my lungs and tearing at them from the inside out. My ribs were broken, and so was one of my arms, but still, I kept crawling. I refused to believe that I could die this way, cold and utterly alone.
The whole time I was praying, begging for the strength to keep moving, asking that God save me, that someone be sent to rescue me from this calamity. It wasn’t fair, I argued. I was too young, hadn’t even really lived yet; I wasn’t ready, there was so much more that I had planned to do… I could feel the icy fingers of panic and fear upon my soul, and they chilled me as much as the wind and snow did, perhaps more.
It was so weird. I’d never really prayed before. Never been to church much, for that matter. I doubted if I was doing it right. I just desperately needed someone to help me. I couldn’t do this alone. I was always alone.
It was only when I reached the oak that I realized my folly: I had crawled further away from the road and possible salvation, and instead was on the outskirts of the woods. No one could hear my shouts for help from here. No matter that I no longer had the strength to whisper, let alone scream. I was alone, an island of human warmth surrounded by cold, about to be consumed by an ocean of snow and ice. That made me lose hope, that’s what made me give up at first: that lonely image of drowning in the white.
I leaned against the tree, resting. The wind howled in my ears, the primal scream of an approaching beast, a dragon. It was hunting me, stalking me, and soon it would be here to eat me, to devour every limb, every morsel of my being, so it would seem as if I had never been. I began to cry then, breaking down as the panic seized hold of me. I screamed wordlessly, my teeth chattering and lips numb.
My body was wracked with pain, and I lost all hope. My muscles ached, and I was shivering so violently that my whole body shook. I turned my face against the bark of the tree, feeling tears spill in warm paths down my chilled cheeks. I struggled to catch my breath, to think straight. I blocked out the world and retreated into my thoughts, my safe haven. I locked my fear and panic into one compartment of my mind, and turned away.
I asked God why He wasn’t stopping this, why He wasn’t saving me. I asked Him why He would create a world filled with living things, teeming with possibilities, yet design it so that a day came where all of that could be taken away. I was about to lose all possibility of experiencing life any further, and I had no choice about it. The decision had been made for me, I was going to die through no fault of my own. If He was God, He could stop this. He could save me.
I thought it ironic that I would die this way, surrounded by wind and snow. I had been born during a storm like this fourteen years before, and the way I was welcomed into the world now seemed to be the same as the way I would exit it. The irony of dying in a cemetery also struck me as funny: at least they wouldn’t be troubled about getting me to the graveyard.
I cradled my head in my bloody hands, now turning a faint shade of blue. The bastards had taken my gloves, my hat and my coat after they beat me up, thinking it was a great joke to leave me to freeze in the snow. They probably thought that I would be able to make my way home. They hadn’t anticipated the sudden snowstorm that was even now covering the world in a blanket of white, erasing the whole world beneath it, including me. The bullies had beat me up to “teach me a lesson,” but never intended to murder me. The storm was responsible for that, and I blamed God for the storm.
I lay there in a snowdrift against the old oak tree dying, the snow piling up higher than my waist, and I was blaming God. I huddled in on myself, struggling to think clearly as my body was ravaged by the weather.
The wind shifted, and the tree became a shelter from the biting cold, and the snow became an insulating blanket. It was peaceful: the wind still roared, but was somewhat muted and seemed calmer. I snuggled into the snow, holding my arms under my chest, and let my body heat keep me warm in the air pocket under the snow piling atop me. For the moment, I had a ridiculous sense of peace.
I suddenly realized the absurdity of the idea that God was to blame for all this: God hadn’t followed me home from school, ambushed me outside the old cemetery on the edge of town, beat me up. God wasn’t the one that dragged me into the graveyard, and then left me there without outer garments in the snow to freeze.
God hadn’t done that, people did. Vile, malicious young punks who belonged to the human species, but had no possible hope of being considered to possess any humanity. Sure, they hadn’t foreseen the storm, but that didn’t mean it was the storm’s fault I was about to die: whether I was here or not, there still would have been a storm. It had no cruel intentions, no desire to hurt me, the way the bullies had. They wanted to do what they did, they chose to.
I began to understand what evil was in that ludicrously philosophical moment, where I lay dying under a tree. It was no longer reserved for villains in novels or movies, or applied solely to generals and dictators in history. No, evil was a choice that any human being could make, a choice to hurt or help another being. One side was evil, the other good, and God had nothing to do with that choice, as I could see it: He left it up to us to choose. God was good, because there was freedom in that choice, a freedom He gave us, rather than keep us as loyal slaves. To be good meant to encourage freedom, not to enslave. There was even liberty in figuring it out for ourselves, instead of just receiving easy answers. The struggle for clarity made us free thinkers.
I smiled as I froze; glad that I had found a way to understand God at least a little before I died. I thanked Him for letting me live at all, giving me the chance to make my choices, to experience all the possibilities I had enjoyed. I asked God to forgive me for questioning Him, for doubting. That’s when I gave up for the second time.
I figured that, since I had just reassured myself as to the goodness inherent to God, that being with Him wouldn’t be so bad. I was going to Heaven, hopefully, and that seemed like a nice place compared to the cold deathly world I currently inhabited. I wanted to give up life. Death didn’t seem like such a scary thing suddenly, it would be a release from the torture that had been inflicted upon me.
Not just the torture of the cold and the wind, or the beating visited upon me by the bullies. No, the torture was existence itself, a life where every day my peers at school judged me and found me wanting for some reason. I was tired of trying to live up to their standards. I finally knew that it wasn’t worth it: I would rather die as myself, finally at peace with God, then live pretending to be like them.
It felt good to make peace with Him and myself. I was actually happy. I had so rarely been happy in the past few years, but I remembered what it was like. The cold had numbed my body, I couldn’t really feel it at all, but I could feel God, this wonderful warm peace inside of me. It banished the fear inspired by the cold and by the possibility of my death. I accepted it and gave up any hold on this life.
It was as I gave up that she came. It was kind of blurry and I was dazed, perhaps even deluded, but this is the way it seemed to me: I was on the verge of collapse, my face frozen and my eyelids about to close, when the wind pushed the flurry of snow out of the way for an instant. I saw a silhouette through the snow because of it, a dark shape. I thought for a moment that it had wings, and then my eyes closed.
I was not allowed the sweet release of oblivion, however. A feminine voice called to me, warm and vibrant and alive, saying my name over and over. It increased that warm feeling inside me, and I actually felt comforted. It seemed to drift away in the wind, and then it returned. Soon I felt arms wrapping a coat around my shoulders, and a few moments after that someone picked me up. That’s when I passed out.
A king stood in a tower, and watched from its window as his kingdom burned. His blood ran down his leg to pool at his feet on the floor. He held his hands against the wound, but he could not prevent the inevitable. He sank against the wall by his window to prop himself up, he was so very tired.
He had seen everyone and everything he cared about destroyed, and was even partly to blame for some of it. He had betrayed people he loved, been betrayed by people he trusted, and abandoned those he swore to defend. He wept silently, filled with sorrow and remorse. His legs gave out from under him, and he slowly sank to the floor and died.
Genevieve Pitney woke up to the sound of screaming. She had been having a wonderful dream about the skiing she planned to do this vacation, which had developed into something that was more disturbing. Waking in such a frightening manner caused her to forget what she had been dreaming about. All around her there was a high-pitched keening, as every human being on the plane seemed to cry out in one voice, and the cacophony drowned out her memory. As the adrenalin began to flow, Genevieve realized that her own voice had joined the others in a howl of fear.
Torrents of rain lashed at the windows, and the entire jet was shaking in the wind, turbulence rocking it from side to side like a boat. She dug her nails into the armchair of her seat, and planted her feet on the floor. Still screaming, Genevieve looked around the cabin of the plane for her friends.
Passengers everywhere were screaming and crying. Genevieve was watching the world around her go mad. The sudden chaos was a far cry from the excitement she and her friends had felt when they had got on the plane, pleased to be on their Reading Week break from university. Beside her was Ethan Keaton Pitney, her elder brother. The others were all panicking, which was fully understandable given the circumstances. Ethan alone was having what one would say was a strange reaction to such a dangerous situation, in that he wasn’t reacting at all.
Ethan was quite tranquil, simply observing the frenetic activity around him. Genevieve looked up at him and was shocked to see the look of complacency on her brother’s face, given that at any moment they could die. The shock knocked enough sense into her that she stopped screaming, and realized her throat felt raw.
His expression was unnerving. It reminded her of a time as children when they had gone on a roller coaster. She had screamed in fearful joy as the ride wooshed and swooshed along its tracks, shaking her and the other passengers. The theme-park had taken photos that were for sale, and Genevieve had been startled to see the photo of her and Ethan - while she was in mid-scream, he had the same look then as now, one of being totally unconcerned with the activity around him. He was simply staring into space as if he had been listening to something no one else could hear. The memory struck a nerve and she started to giggle.
As if her laughter had awakened him somehow, Ethan suddenly moved. Genevieve felt terror in her soul as her brother unbuckled his safety belt and stood up. She reached out to grab him, her hand shaking, but he was already moving down the aisle. The thing that frightened her most wasn’t just the extreme danger Ethan had just put himself in, but the look upon his face. He had that same zombie-like stare, as if he wasn’t really there.
Ethan strode down the aisle, somehow balancing against the shaking of the plane as it was tossed about by the fierce winds outside. He went up the aisle towards one of their friends, Jason Shelagh. Oblivious to the screams around him, Ethan headed directly to Jason’s side and slapped the crying young man. The blow was hard enough to shake Jay’s blond head. The shock of the blow caused Jason to sit straight up in his seat and stare into Ethan’s eyes intensely. It seemed to Genevieve from her seat that the two were speaking to each other, communicating, yet their mouths did not move, so she couldn’t understand why she had that impression.
Jason turned to the young man sitting next to him, his stepbrother Alexander. He touched Alex’s shoulder, and then reached across the aisle to touch another of their friends, Evan. Each in turn reached out to their other friends, until all had calmed. Genevieve was amazed as she felt fear receding from her body to a manageable level.
Ethan was still standing in front of Jason, but already his attention had redirected itself, away from his friends and towards the front of the plane. He marched purposefully up the aisle towards an air-flight attendant standing there.
All of the other passengers were holding completely still, and there was an eerie silence filling the cabin of the jet. She wondered if they were calming down because of Jason, too, but then she noticed that none of them were moving. At all. Their faces were still locked in mid-scream, their fingers still clutching armrests or spouses’ hands, sweat glistened on the foreheads of many, suspended in mid-fall. They weren’t even breathing, and Genevieve suddenly felt the fear begin to return, like cold fingers creeping along her skin.
She instinctively sought Ethan, her big brother who had always protected her, and saw him at the front of the cabin. The attendant was speaking to him, but Genevieve couldn’t see if he was answering back, his face was turned away from her. She could see the woman’s face, though, and an errant thought took rise in Genevieve’s mind, totally out of place in such a frenzied situation, where their lives could be hanging in the balance.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Genevieve thought to herself. She appeared to be Ethan’s age, as best as Genevieve could guess. Her hair was almost shoulder length, and curly. Its colour, however, was the remarkable thing about it — it was a red or auburn that seemed to almost glow with a golden light. And her skin wasn’t just smooth and nicely complexioned, but pure. That was the only word Genevieve could think of to describe it, and it didn’t come near enough.
The woman smiled at Ethan then, and from rows away Genevieve could feel the emotional warmth that radiated from that smile. It evoked feelings in Genevieve that reminded her of her mother: comfort, safety, love. She wondered how Ethan could even speak to this angelic creature. He was normally very shy and nervous around girls, apt to trip over his own feet and his tongue when he tried to talk to them. If the woman’s beauty could strike Genevieve so strongly from that far away, she imagined it should hit a male like a gale force wind. Or a hurricane.
As she pondered this, Genevieve missed seeing what Ethan did next. All Genevieve knew was that Ethan had been standing by this woman one moment, and by the time she looked again he was gone.
“Where’s Ethan?” She shouted, standing up and breaking the group’s circle. None of them had seen what Ethan had done, or the woman, either, but they looked now. Ethan was nowhere to be seen, but the attendant was coming down the aisle towards them. She passed by the frozen passengers, seemingly unconcerned with their immobility and the screams painted on their faces.
“Where’s Ethan?” Genevieve demanded again, a tone of anger and panic creeping into her voice. No one paid her any mind. The woman went to Jason first, took his hand and helped him rise to his feet. She directed him down the aisle with a gesture and a smile, and he started heading towards the front of the plane. It seemed that he and all the other boys had been struck dumb by her beauty, as she repeated the sequence with each of them, and no one spoke a word.
“Where is my brother?” Genevieve glared at the woman as she approached. Then her anger dissipated, gone as if had never been, as she looked into the woman’s eyes. They were a rich blue that was so dark it was almost purple, like an evening sky, and were strangely calming. From far away they would appear brown from their depth, but up close their colour was startling and beautiful.
“Do not worry, Evie, everything will be fine,” the woman said. She took Genevieve’s hand and started to lead her to the front of the plane. So gentle was her manner that Genevieve could not question her, nor feel anger at the use of the nickname only Ethan and her baby sister Gwendolyn were ever allowed to use. No one else could call her Evie without invoking her wrath, yet this woman knew that name and used it like they were friends. Or sisters.
Genevieve looked back at the other passengers. “What about them?”
“Do not worry. They will be fine, but you must get off the plane.”
Genevieve would have questioned this statement, as her mind screamed: Are you mad? There’s a storm, and we’re in mid-air, about to crash, and you want me to get off the plane? The woman’s calming gaze erased her concerns again however, and Genevieve allowed herself to be led to the door of the jet, gaping like a hungry mouth before her. The woman handed Genevieve her bag, which had conveniently been placed there, and then smiled.
“Who are you?” Genevieve asked, as she prepared to do the impossible, leap from a crashing plane headlong into a hurricane, just because this woman told her that she must.
“A friend. You must trust me, Evie. All will be well.”
And with that Genevieve had to be content, as she found herself falling from the plane into darkness.
Next Chapter: Earlier that Day
or, continue the Middle at Chapter 7
