by Bryan Davis
I took a step back. “Yessir, but I had a … a premonition, I guess you’d call it. So did another passenger.” I angled my head toward the wing. “Your left engine has a problem. Something bad’s going to happen to it.”
The captain extended a rigid finger toward the wing. “That engine is fine. Every part of this jet is checked according to a strict schedule. I’m not about to let mass hysteria over nightmares, Bigfoots, or Loch Ness monsters endanger this flight.” He leaned so close his hot breath blew across my cheek. “Do I make myself clear?”
I steeled myself, forcing my voice to stay calm. “Yessir. But — ”
“No buts, or your butt will be off this aircraft.” The captain spun an about-face and stormed back into the cockpit, closing the door with a loud clap.
I winced. That guy meant business. But who could blame him? He’d probably heard a thousand nightmare stories. At least he had enough patience not to kick me off the plane right away.
I checked the seat number on my boarding pass and headed down the aisle. When I met Kelly, I whispered, “Let’s just find our seats,” and continued striding toward the back.
As I walked through and glanced at the row numbers, passengers stabbed me with icy glares, but I ignored them. When I found our number, I stopped and looked out the window. Our seats were next to the wing. “Wouldn’t you know it? We have the emergency row.”
When we slid into place, I folded the empty saddle pack and shoved it under the seat in front of me, while Kelly laid the violin case under the seat in front of her. As she handed me the Quattro mirror, she leaned close. Her whispered voice spiked with alarm. “Are we really going to take off?”
“I have to save these people somehow,” I whispered back. “If you want to leave, it should be easy to get kicked off. Just make a scene, and I’m sure the pilot will oblige.”
“I can’t leave without you.” She locked her arm around mine. “But how do you plan to stop the crash?”
“Maybe the mirror can transport us all out of here.” I glanced at my watch. 2:55. But the second hand had stopped. Maybe it had quit working.
When I tried to get a look at the wristwatch of a man in the seat across the aisle, he extended his arm and turned the watch toward me. “It is two fifty-five, Nathan, son of Solomon. Will the brief delay you caused be sufficient to bring about your desired end?”
Gaunt and white haired, the man was the image of Mictar, though he had no ponytail, and his eyes carried none of the murderer’s malice. Yet, they seemed just as unearthly — dark, fiery, and piercing.
Every sound in the cabin dampened to silence, and every movement ceased, including the air jetting from the vents. Even Kelly’s rapid breathing stopped as though she had frozen in place.
My reply came out in a stutter. “Who … who are you?”
His lips seemed to move in slow motion. “I am Patar, the one who sets free.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I have been watching you,” Patar replied, his voice wafting through the eerie silence. “Your defiance of my brother, Mictar, and his schemes is courageous and good, but you are wandering in dangerous lands. There are other ways to prevent the ultimate conflict.” He pointed a slender white finger toward the front. “You still have time to escape.”
I let my gaze move across the colorful array of faces, some smiling, others anxious, each one a reflection of an inner array of hopes and fears. “But what about all these people? Shouldn’t I try to rescue them?”
His pale lips bent downward. “That is a question of moral duty. I cannot answer it for you.”
“Can I rescue them? I mean, is the crash predetermined?”
“Predetermined?” He raised a single eyebrow. “That word is far more complex than you realize. In order to explain, I will refer to a parallel you have come to rely upon — the mirror you call Quattro. Do you think it provides glimpses of the future?”
I looked at the mirror, now on my lap. It showed only my face, pale and worried. “I think so. Everything in the reflection always came true.”
“Then do you think the images are predetermined?”
“I … I really don’t know. Why don’t you just tell me?”
“Very well. What you see in the mirror merely reflects the ruminations of your mind — what you expect, what you long for, what you fear. The mirror is not a window to the future; it is a view port into what might be. Its power to make these images come true is quickened by your faith in what you see and how you respond to it. You might call it a reflection of your supplications as well as predictions based on what your supplicant knows.”
“My supplicant? I’ve heard that word before. What does it mean?”
“I cannot hold this suspension for long, so I lack time to explain. We should focus on the mortal consequences of your decision to board this aircraft. You will learn about your supplicant later.”
“All right. Suppose the mirror shows a way to escape. If I act according to what it shows me, then we have a chance.”
“Correct.”
“What if it doesn’t show me anything?”
“Then I assume the plane will crash. You and your loyal friend will die along with everyone on board.”
“Okay … I guess that’s true.” A lump swelled in my throat. “I have another question. Suppose we survive. What do I do about this ultimate conflict you mentioned? And how do I fight Mictar?”
Patar stood, stepped across the aisle, and laid a hand over my eyes. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to get away, but my arms and legs froze in place.
The hand clamped down, but not tightly. “Fear not, son of Solomon, and open your eyes. I am bestowing a gift that will, if your heart is prepared, protect you from my brother. When the time comes to use it, the depth of your courage will ignite this power.”
As light flashed, I relaxed and opened my lids. Soothing warmth bathed my eyes, like bathwater swirling around aching muscles.
After a few seconds, Patar lifted his hand and backed away. “Choose whatever path you must, but beware.” His voice lowered to a snakelike whisper. “If these souls are cheated out of death, their escape might create more darkness than light. Take care not to stir darkened pools when you know neither the depth of the water nor the creatures that lurk beneath the surface.” He then morphed into a human-shaped cloud of thin mist and disappeared.
The passengers jerked back into motion. The vents emitted cool air once again, and Kelly lurched toward the aisle. Catching her breath, she leaned toward me and whispered, “What just happened?”
“I’ll tell you later.” I sank in my seat, a queasy feeling churning my stomach. What should I do now? Patar seemed to think I should let all these people die. How could a force of good possibly want that? Still, if Patar was Mictar’s enemy, shouldn’t I trust him? And he seemed to know all about Quattro, but would a Mictar lookalike really be on the right side, or was he in this battle with his brother for his own benefit?
As I closed my eyes, the gaunt phantom’s face hovered in my mind. So this was the person Dad mentioned, the one who might scare me away. Yet, Dad also said Patar would tell me the right thing to do. Did that mean I should get up and leave? Patar didn’t exactly say to do that.
I opened my eyes. My heart thumped like a jackhammer. I looked again at my reflection in the mirror, still on my lap. My chin quivered, and my tense lips had turned nearly white.
Kelly looked on. With her eyebrows bent low, she glanced from the mirror to me and back to the mirror again. Her voice carried softly to my ear, a slight tremble giving away her fear. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know.” I watched myself lick my pale lips, hoping the mirror would give me some sign that it would do its magic, but nothing changed. Even without the mirror’s help, I might be able to save everyone, maybe scream that I saw someone tamper with the engine until the passengers demanded a maintenance check. Then the airline would probably check it and find the problem, an
d the police would arrest me for causing it. But at least I would save everyone on board.
Maybe if the mirror showed the engine falling off before it happened, the passengers would see it and shout for action, but would the captain believe them? I could also play something on my violin that might bring an image to the mirror and transport us to a safe place. But would Kelly and I go alone? Would everyone on the airplane go with us? Or would it not work at all, abandoning Kelly and me to suffer in the devastating carnage?
The girl in red appeared in the mirror, this time looking straight at me. She waved as if entreating me to follow, then ran into the mirror’s dark background and disappeared.
I glanced at Kelly. For the moment, she had turned toward the aisle. She hadn’t seen the girl. Maybe I should just do what she asked, follow her, trust her to control the mirror once more.
“Kelly,” I whispered. “Let’s see what the mirror will do now.” While she watched, I lifted the mirror toward the window and adjusted the angle until the wing appeared in the reflection. Everything seemed normal, just a copy of the long metal appendage and a gleam of sunlight near the tip. After a few seconds, the pavement in the reflection lurched, then moved forward. In the mirror, the jet was backing up. Soon, the same would happen in reality. “It looks like we’re going to take off.”
She replied with a quiet whimper. “Do you have a plan?”
“Just …” I tightened every muscle, trying to keep my body from shaking. “Just that I have to let the plane take off.”
“But we can still escape first, right?” She reached for her buckle. “We can get up and demand that they let us leave.”
I grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand away from her belt. “Just trust me. It’s going to be all right.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
“I saw the girl in red. I think she’s going to help us.” I nodded toward the seat in front of hers. “As soon as the flight attendant checks everyone, get my violin out.”
She sat up straight and pulled away from me. “Here she comes.”
I slid the mirror behind me. As the brunette attendant strode down the aisle glancing at buckles, I settled back and smiled. When she reached our row, she halted. Wearing a chilling frown, she pointed at Kelly. “Stow the camera, please.”
Kelly drew the strap over her head and laid the camera under the seat in front of her.
After checking our area, the attendant continued her march toward the rear of the plane. When she reversed course and returned to the front, Kelly grabbed the camera and draped the strap over her head again. Then, using her foot, she guided the violin case toward me along the carpet. I caught the case with my own foot and lifted it to my lap.
Just as the mirror had predicted, the plane lurched and began a slow backwards roll. Kelly clutched the arms of her seat, her knuckles white.
I opened the case as quietly as possible. After removing the violin and bow, I laid the case on the floor and pushed it back in place with my foot. Then, I retrieved the mirror and braced it on my knees.
Kelly reached for the mirror and held it with one hand. “Got it.”
“Thanks.” I adjusted the mirror to show the wing. “Keep it right there.”
The plane stopped. With a high-pitched purr, the engines came to life and propelled us forward. As the wheels rumbled toward the runway, I closed my eyes. A crash was inevitable. Only Quattro could save us now. But whom would it save?
I opened my eyes again. Although in reality we were still heading for the runway, the mirror showed the tarmac lines speeding past the window. Then, in the midst of a huge billow of smoke, the engine flew up from the front of the wing, tumbled over the top, and hurtled back toward the tail area.
I jerked my head away. It was really going to happen. The plane was doomed.
In reality, the jet turned onto the runway’s black-streaked pavement and accelerated. With each tiny jolt over the runway’s grooves, Kelly flinched, shaking the mirror.
I set the bow on the strings. My timing had to be perfect. If I played too soon, a frightened passenger or an angry flight attendant might snatch the violin away. If I played too late, the world-transport window might not open in time, if it would open at all.
With long, easy strokes, I began the first measure of “Amazing Grace.” Years ago, Mom had taught me the song, one of my first pieces when I was barely more than a toddler holding an eighth-size violin in my chubby hands. And as I played, she played along and sang, her voice matching the composer’s passion.
The plane jerked. Just as the nose tipped upward and the landing gear lifted off the ground, the engine flew up in front of the wing and zoomed past the window. A chorus of gasps spread across the field of seats like a gust of wind. Screams erupted. Hands latched onto armrests. A rumbling roar from the good engine on the right pounded through the cabin. The jet rattled, a bone-jarring shake that chattered teeth and jiggled loose skin on white-knuckled passengers.
Kelly cried out, “Nathan! I don’t want to die! I’m not ready to die!”
I stopped playing and grabbed her hand. “Don’t give up. Hang on. It’s the only way we can survive.”
Strangling my fingers, she breathed rapid, heavy breaths. “Get a grip, Kelly. Get control of yourself.” Her breaths eased, long and quiet, but her hand stayed latched to mine.
I pulled free and played on, adding more passion. As we continued our upward lift, Kelly jumped, again shaking the mirror, but she bit her lip and hung on. The camera dangled in front of her, thumping her chest with every jolt. The plane banked slowly to the left, much more steeply than it would for a turn. Screams again broke out as passengers tipped to the side, reaching, grabbing, clawing to stay upright.
Kelly squeezed her eyes closed. Her face quaked as she stretched out a long, plaintive cry. “Nathan! Help me!”
Leaning against the window, I swept the bow through the end of a measure. What could I do to help? What could anyone do? The mirror displayed a sea of twisted, burning wreckage and dozens of bloody, charred, and dismembered bodies scattered across the tarmac. At any second, Kelly and I would join them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As the jet shook harder, more screams filled the cabin — calls to Jesus, cries for mercy, and unintelligible wails. An overhead bin popped open, spilling a duffle bag and a canvas overnighter on top of two men across the aisle. The smell of burnt fuel and rubber filled the air.
Kelly braced herself on the seat in front and sang the first phrase of my tune, her voice feeble and quiet. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.” Every word rattled through her chattering teeth as she hung on to the mirror. During the second phrase, a woman joined in from behind as did a man somewhere to the side.
The jet angled to ninety degrees and flew sideways. The cabin lights flickered off, leaving only shafts of sunlight knifing through the windows. More bins flew open. Suitcases and garment bags rained throughout the cabin. Smoke billowed from somewhere out of sight and spread toward us.
The mirror blazed with fire and falling ash. Still playing the violin, I glanced out the window. The tip of the wing sank, just thirty feet from a fatal brush with the ground.
As Kelly and the others sang on, I stopped playing and reached the end of my bow toward the reading light in the overhead console. Would it work? Or was the plane too crippled to deliver power to the bulbs? I caught a glimpse of the camera, swinging back and forth from the strap around Kelly’s neck. I hissed, “Take a picture of the mirror.”
Her body quaking, she grabbed the camera, pointed it, and pressed the shutter button. It clicked, but the flash unit stayed dark. “I have to turn it on.”
“No time.” I strained to push the console button, fighting the horrible quaking of the wounded jet. Giving the bow a desperate shove, I hit the switch. The light flashed on.
The mirror reflected the weak beam, splitting it into multiple shafts. Two beams pierced Kelly and me, while others zipped past us. The light
felt like a hot laser that sizzled through my skin and burned deep in my chest.
Kelly released the mirror, but it stayed upright on my lap and expanded in every direction, even in depth as it seemed to absorb my legs and reach toward Kelly’s.
My body slid into the mirror’s grip. I looked to the side, still able to see through the plane’s window. The wingtip struck the ground, sending the jet into a wild tumble. The jolt threw Kelly into me and shoved us fully into the mirror.
Holding out my violin to keep it safe, I rolled to a stop in an open field. The jet cartwheeled only a few feet above my head, and the nose section knifed into the ground about fifty yards away, digging a rut before breaking loose from the fuselage. The rest of the body slammed down and smashed a hangar in a thunderous explosion of horrible thuds, cracks, and squeals as its momentum swept an avalanche of destruction across the field.
Metal tore from metal. Fire gushed into the sky in an enormous cloud of orange. Heat rushed past me in a rolling wave, singeing my skin and whipping my hair. The mirror, still in my lap, radiated warmth through my pants.
Kelly grabbed my arm and buried her face in my sleeve, screaming, “Nathan! They’re dead! They’re all dead!”
A man jumped past us and dashed toward the wreckage, then another limped by — the author we had met in the terminal building. I looked around and counted. Two, three, four … at least four other people sat or stood in horror while the first two hurried into the crash zone.
Still clutching the violin, I grabbed the mirror, rose, and staggered toward the burning wreckage. Kelly stumbled along beside me, her legs wobbly.
In the midst of crackling fires and sizzling metal, sirens wailed, drawing closer. The two men who charged ahead earlier just stood and surveyed the field of hopelessness. Burning body parts lay strewn in a swath of superheated fires. No one could save them now.
