I haven’t done any of these things, though. Any one of them could easily set off my need to restart my night routine, and I really shouldn’t be redoing that tonight. I really should be getting some sleep tonight.
Because I’m not going to be able to sleep tomorrow. Not on the plane. Not in the hotel. Not—
My back, my legs, my neck…they all start to break out in a shivery sweat. My throat, thankfully not trying to throw up, is dry. Overly dry. Cannot swallow-dry.
I try to push my thoughts away. The plane, the passengers, the hotel, the germs—everything.
It doesn’t work. The thoughts don’t go away.
If someone doesn’t check the plane properly before we take off tomorrow, the plane will crash. If there is some sort of storm, some sort of bad weather, the plane will crash. If the pilot is distracted…or if there is a terrorist or—
My cold sweat spreads over my stomach, my feet, and my face. My pajama shirt damply clings to my back.
Stop, Callie. Stop. Stop.
A terrorist could—
No. CALLIE. Stop.
I cover my face, my eyes, with my hands, trying to stop the thoughts from—
Who is staying in my hotel room right now? Who stayed in it last night? And the night before that? And the night before that? And the—
CALLIE.
Please don’t make me go to this conference, God. Please. Please don’t—
A new round of prickly sweat starts to race around my body. I’m too out of control to be praying. I want this too much…want not to go too much.
What if my prayers go to the wrong place…what if I get so worked up, so out of control, that I start sending them to the wrong place? What if I decide that I’ll do anything to get out of this, even bargain with my soul…with Sata—
My eyes, though closed, start to burn. My head starts to pound.
What if I’ve already lost my soul? If I—
I slam my head against my pillow, trying to knock my thoughts out of my mind.
It’s too late, though. Images of eternity, of fire, begin—
I open my eyes, shaking my head fiercely.
The thoughts remain. The images continue and—
I grab a clump of my hair from the top of my head, pulling and yanking and hoping to cause enough pain to stop the thinking.
Pictures—evil, horrible images—start to move in a faster rhythm, flashing through me in a constant cycle.
My shirt is now drenched. I start to shake. I throw the covers off of me and—
BUZZ.
My phone is buzzing against my dresser. Without thinking, just doing, I fling myself out of my bed and over to my phone.
One text. Unknown Number.
Open quickly.
Do you want me to go with you?
Chapter 13
pre-flight
YES. YES. Y—
Stop, Callie.
Body and fingers shaking. Hit reply quickly.
No.
Send before I can change my response.
Before I return my phone to my dresser, I check the time. 4:12 a.m.
My alarm is set to ring at 4:15 a.m. Time for my morning routine.
Relieved at the thought, I switch off my alarm clock and get to work, focusing intently on each of my tasks. {Oh, and on Damien, who sings. And sings. And sings.}
7:15 a.m. I don’t even take a second of a break before beginning my leaving-the-house routine. Just keep moving, Callie. Just keep not thinking, Callie.
{I guess you are going to just keep singing, Damien.}
7:48 a.m. My morning routine is finished. My leaving-the-house preparations are finished. Nothing left to do. My travel bag, filled with whatever Mandy put in it, is here, sitting by the door. I haven’t been able to make myself look inside of it…not beyond the note that Mandy attached to the handle, the note telling me that she packed everything—clothes, pajamas, shoes, hair styling products, and makeup/toiletries (new makeup and toiletries that she must’ve bought at some point after, well, some point after he told her to, I guess).
On top of my travel bag is my purse. And my purse has my netbook in it. So I’ll be able to type my conference articles. If I ever make it to the conference.
I sit down on the steps and my eyes focus on my travel bag, on my purse, on the door…the door that Dr. Gabriel will be knocking on any second now.
How the hell am I going to do this? How am I going to even move my legs, lift my body off of the stairs to answer the door…let alone get into Dr. Gabriel’s car, enter a plane, stay in a—
Cold sweat is again spreading over my body. My gray dress is clinging to my shoulders and arms. My eyes start to sting.
Get it together, Callie.
I scrape my nail polish off—digging at three nails at a time. It doesn’t help.
My cheeks and forehead begin to burn up. My dress is now stuck to my back, my stomach, my thighs.
And…and I can’t breathe in…I try a few times to make my body, my organs, work, but nothing happens.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
My head starts to spin. My—
“Callie?” Mandy’s voice echoes throughout my head. CALLIE CALLIE CALLIE.
“Callie?”
Her face is right in front of mine, her hands on my cheeks.
“Callie. You are soaking wet.”
I don’t respond. Can’t respond yet.
She puts more pressure on my cheeks. “We have to leave for the airport in just a few minutes. You’re going to have to change.”
We are leaving for the airport? We?
Mandy must see my confusion through all of the other emotions that, I’m sure, are on my face right now. “I’m taking you to the airport now. Dr. Gabriel knows—I called him last night.” She drops her hands and straightens out her body. She is now looking down at me.
But—
“I just told him that I already had plans to ride out that way this morning. That’s all I told him, so don’t worry.”
But—
“Callie—we’ve got to get going, though. Do you want me to run upstairs and grab you another outfit?”
I make my head move up and down slowly. Mandy flashes me a mixed look—a concerned glance and a little reassuring smile all at once. Then she rushes past me as she goes up the stairs.
Thank you, Mandy. Thank you, Mandy. Thank you. {Kelly Clarkson runs in with the refrain of “My Life Would Suck Without You.”}
Mandy is back in no time. She again takes her place in front of me at the bottom of the stairs. Then she reaches out, grabs my hands, and pulls my body to a standing position. She takes my hands and positions them on her shoulders.
“Okay, Callie. Left leg up.”
I listen to her instructions, doing as she says. Hands securely on Mandy’s shoulders. Left leg up. Mandy bends down and starts to slide a gray pencil skirt onto my body. Then she asks me to raise my right leg. Left leg down. Right leg up. Hands still on Mandy’s shoulders. Mandy pulls the skirt up, up under the bottom half of my sweaty dress.
“Okay, Callie. Put your foot back on the ground and lift up your arms slowly.” She puts her hands firmly at my waist. “I’ve got you.”
Okay. Right foot down. Hands off of Mandy’s shoulders. Arms moving slowly up in the air. Mandy, still holding my waist, meets my eyes. Her face is all scrunched up.
“How are you going to do this, Callie? How—”
I shake my head to cut her off, blinking my eyes as they begin to build up into a soggy mess. Mandy shakes her own head sadly. Then she leans down to lift the bottom of my dress up with her right hand. Somehow, she manages to pull the entire dress up and over my head while still keeping some sort of grip on my body with her other hand. She then throws the gray dress on the stairs behind me and begins sliding a white sweater over my arms, over my head.
When she finishes, she looks at me again, a forced smile now planted on her lips. “Your shoes match this outfit too. Don’t worry.”
{
Kelly Clarkson gets louder, again repeating her refrain.}
I give Mandy a tiny, but real smile. Then I manage to push out some sentences. “Thank you.” I raise my eyebrows. “You know I hate you driving unnecessarily all the way to Pittsburgh for me.”
Mandy’s smile gets a little bigger, a little more comfortable. She takes my hand and then leans over to grab my dress from the stairs. As she starts walking toward the hall with me in tow, she talks. “It really isn’t unnecessary, Callie. I’m going to visit Josh.” She opens the laundry closet and places my dress on the washer. Then she looks back at me, still smiling. “I have the time since I cleared my schedule for a certain someone who doesn’t want my company.”
“Hey—of course I want your company,” I cut in before she says anything else. “I just can’t—”
Mandy cuts me off, closing the laundry closet and pulling me back toward the front door. “I know—you can’t have a babysitter for your big conference, your graduation requirement thing.” Now her smile gets huge. “You won’t even let your hot not-boyfriend doctor go with you.”
I drop her hand. “You know about that?” He called you again?
“Of course.” Mandy stops at the hall closet to grab my coat. “Who do you think told me to call Dr. Gabriel?”
For a moment, my stomach begins to relax…and my body begins to feel a little at ease. Just a little.
This has to be more than standard doctor treatment. And he’s not even really my doctor right now. He doesn’t have to do this…he must want to do this…
{D.A.M.I.E.N}
Mandy opens the front door, nods for me to pick up my purse (and I listen), shoves my coat into my travel bag, and throws the bag over her shoulder. She then yanks me through the door and closes it. She waits patiently while I triple twist the handle.
Then we go.
OUR TRIP TO PITTSBURGH GOES really fast. Mandy talks nonstop about her sorority’s pledge class, purses, food, and Josh. It almost feels like a Sunday drive to Pittsburgh for a family dinner. Almost.
There are differences, of course. For one, it’s not Sunday. Also, I don’t usually have a travel bag in the car when we go to dinner. Furthermore, my body is not normally sweating or shaking…and in general just not functioning correctly…
We get to the airport around 9:15 a.m. Mandy doesn’t park right away, though. She drives around the parking lot super slowly, passing empty spaces every few minutes. She continues to talk, now about one of her art classes, as she drives. I wait until 9:35 a.m. to interrupt her, to ask her what she’s doing.
She looks over at me matter-of-factly. “I’m supposed to kill time.”
Oh. I guess she’s been given explicit instructions for this drop off. I’m guessing she even knows what time my fli—
Nope. Don’t want to think about it. I place my hands over my rumbling stomach, push my head back against the headrest, and try to focus on Mandy’s story about an upcoming art show at Pierce.
At 9:50 a.m., her story slows down. So does the car.
My stomach does the opposite.
Mandy pulls up to an empty parking spot and turns into it. She turns off the car, the radio, and any sense of calm I had left. She glances over at me, a sad look in her eyes.
“Okay, Callie. If you really want to do this, we’ve gotta get going now.”
I nod my head slightly. I have to do this. I force my hand to open my car door. Then I push my feet, my gray pumps, out and onto the pavement beside the car.
Okay. Keep going, Callie. Keep. Going.
Move. Move. MOVE.
I can’t. I can’t peel my body from the seat. I can’t move.
I look down at my feet, urging them to somehow lift me up…to somehow push me out of the car.
It doesn’t work. It—
A pair of pink heels appears in front of me. Mandy’s heels. Mandy’s feet. Her body moves in toward mine, and before I know it, she’s taking my hands and bringing me up to a standing position.
The next few minutes (or maybe several minutes…or maybe a half hour…I don’t know) are really fuzzy. In a light-headed, dry-throated, stomach-pounding fog, we walk into the airport, check in at a counter, and head toward a security checkpoint. Mandy stops me before we get to the checkpoint. She helps me balance, holding onto my waist as she has me slip off my shoes, put incredibly thick socks over my nylons, and shove my shoes back on.
I do as she says. Then I float along beside her in a daze.
When we get up to the security checkpoint, I stand right beside Mandy as she picks up some dark-colored tubs. She pulls some Lysol wipes from her purse and cleans the tubs thoroughly, inside and outside. After she tosses the wipes into a nearby trash can, she cleans off her own hands with another wipe…some sort of antibacterial wipe. Clearly, someone has told her just what to do here…because she does everything almost exactly as he would have done it.
My head is too fuzzy to dwell on this…to dwell on the fact that, as always, he has every little detail covered.
I watch as Mandy puts her purse, my purse, and my travel bag into the newly-cleaned dark bins. She then tells me to take off my shoes. And…and I’m not really surprised. Somewhere buried in the back of my head…way back, I knew that this was coming. I read about this shoe removal procedure in the news years ago…and I’ve heard people who travel talking about it…oh, and I kind of suspected that this was about to happen a few fuzzy minutes ago when Mandy made me shove heavy duty socks onto my feet and then into my heels…
I knew this was probably coming…but I still somehow hoped that it wasn’t going to happen. Hoped it magically wasn’t a procedure anymore.
But it is.
And it’s happening. Now.
“Callie, if you insist upon going to this conference, you have to do this part.” Mandy’s whispered words reverberate in my head. Around and around and around in my head.
{Merry-go-round organ music begins blaring in there, too.}
Okay, Callie. You have to do this. You have to do this. You have to do this.
One. Two. Three. You can throw the socks out right afterward. One. Two. Three. It will only take a few seconds. One. Two. Three. Please let it only take a few seconds.
Mandy is staring at me, covered in sympathy…and concern…and helplessness…
Okay. Okay. Okay.
Head spinning. {Merry-go-round music pounding. Horses flying in circles around and around and around my brain.}
I pull my left foot up and out of my shoe.
One. Two. Three. I push my foot a little toward the floor. One. Two. Three. A little more. One. Two. Three. Please don’t let me step in anything gross. Or wet. Like throw up.
Oh…and please don’t let me throw up. Please. Please.
One.
Two.
Three.
I make contact with the floor. But I can’t feel anything…because these socks are REALLY thick…and because I think my feet are numb.
I repeat the whole foot-coming-out-of-shoe process for my right foot. As soon as I make contact with the ground…the probably dirty, germ-cover—
CALLIE!
Mandy leans over and grabs my shoes. Then she rips off her own shoes, throws both pairs into another dark-colored bin, puts her arm around me, and somehow manages to drag all of our stuff and both of our bodies to the next open security station. She places the dark bins on a conveyor belt and then gives me a little push, getting me through the metal detector (which, Thank God, doesn’t beep). She then walks through the metal detector herself, saying a couple of fuzzy-sounding sentences to the security officer at our station. Moments later, she drags me (and our stuff) over to a nearby counter.
She helps me balance as she takes off my socks and returns my heels to my nyloned feet. It isn’t until after she’s thrown out my socks…after she’s again wiped her hands with an antibacterial wipe…after she’s gathered our belongings and returned the bins…after she’s started to lead us to a new section of the airport…that I can think clear
ly enough to realize that she shouldn’t be here.
I look over at her as we walk toward…well, presumably where I’m supposed to meet Dr. Gabriel.
I open my mouth and get out some words. “I know I’ve never flown before…but there is no way that you should be this far into the airport without a ticket. Right?”
Mandy looks over at me as she walks, shaking her head and smil—
“Wait. I don’t even have a ticket. How—”
“Callie—of course you have a ticket. The link to it was in Dr. Gabriel’s email file. I printed it last night.”
Oh. We keep walking. But that doesn’t explain—
I cut off my thoughts and say them aloud—before I waste all kinds of time thinking about them first.
“But that doesn’t explain how you’re here.” I pause to give her a pleading look. “Mandy, I really can’t have you getting on a plane for me.”
Mandy looks at me sadly. “I wish you’d stop thinking that way, Callie.” She pauses. “But stop worrying. I’m not going with you.”
I look at her questioningly.
And now she smiles. A huge smile. She’s obviously going to bring up Dr. Blake again. “The hot doctor pulled some major medical strings…or therapist strings, I guess, to get me a pass to escort you through the airport.”
Oh. I’ve heard of airports granting passes like that…normally for parents who have young children flying alone...
I wonder what Dr. Blake had to say about me to get Mandy a pass.
Probably just the truth, Callie. Probably—
Mandy stops walking. I stop beside her.
“Callie,” she starts hesitantly, “this is where I need to leave you if you don’t want Dr. Gabriel to see me…if you don’t want him to know about my, um, special pass.”
I nod my head slowly. My throat tightens. My chest tightens. I close my eyes to try to push back what I know is about to come out of them.
Checked Again (Checked Series) Page 16
