SECRET SALVATION

by Chad Josey

The agent approached his microphone as Liz peeked at the note she held. “Good morning and merry Christmas. We will be boarding Continental Flight 1541 to Ft. Lauderdale in a few moments. Please check that you have your boarding pass and identification ready. I will make an announcement when we are ready to board.”

  His voice created a stir among the waiting passengers, like poking a beehive. The parents collected their children’s toys. The old man put away his newspaper. The teenager continued talking. And, the poor man, well, he was still having troubles wrapping his gift.

  For Liz, the announcement elevated her breathing. Her heart pounded. It had been years since she had last flown.

  Okay, here goes nothing… the note says that I should go to the restroom before boarding begins.

  Liz stood and straightened her yellow skirt down to her knees. Her white, flowery blouse waved as she pulled her suitcase to the nearby women’s restroom.

  Her makeup and hair were perfect in the mirror as she admired herself. A deep breath came from her as she peeked inside her note and took her suitcase with her into the handicap stall.

  She propped her suitcase next to the door and slipped her hand inside the unzipped top part. After fumbling for a few moments, she pulled out a pair of gray sweatpants and a black, hooded sweatshirt.

  Another peek at her note and she fished out a pair of white sneakers from the bottom of the suitcase. Her shoes were on the floor and her sweat clothes were on the top of the suitcase, which wobbled with its top-heavy adornment.

  Her heart pounded as she removed her blouse and exchanged it for the black, hooded sweatshirt. Liz reached behind her waist to unzip and step out of her skirt slipping into the gray sweatpants.

  I cannot believe I'm doing this.

  The toilet lid slammed down shocking her. Liz sat and changed from her black flats into the sneakers. The crackling of a white, plastic masked her heavy breathing as she shoved her flats, skirt, blouse, and pocketbook inside a shopping bag from her favorite boutique store.

  Her heart jumped into her throat as the restroom door banged open against the wall causing her to freeze. Not wanting to move to make a sound, Liz peered through the crack of the toilet stall. A young woman with her child stood at the sink.

  “Hurry up, we’re boarding soon.”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Liz sat in the stall, frozen. She watched as the woman looked at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her makeup. The child entered the toilet stall two doors down from Liz, who let out a sigh of relief under her breath.

  An announcement came over the speakers in the bathroom ceiling. “Continental Flight 1541 to Ft. Lauderdale is now ready to board. We ask those requiring assistance or those with small children to proceed to the gate.”

  “That’s us… we need to go.”

  Her mom’s voice was a cue. The toilet flushed followed by a small voice. “Okay, Mommy.”

  As the stall door closed, water flowed in the sink. “Quick, wash your hands, and let’s go.”

  A few seconds had passed when the vibration of the slamming door ricocheted throughout the women’s room. All was quiet. Liz released a deep breath and unlocked her stall.

  Liz opened her door and stepped to the sink. As she stared in the mirror, she turned on the water and grabbed paper towels in the nearby dispenser to wipe the makeup from her face.

  Her hand shook as she applied a new shade of lipstick from bright red to a darker magenta. She threw two pins holding up her hair into the trash. A mix of brown and gray hair flowed down into her face and over her shoulders as she brushed it with her fingers.

  She was barely recognizable from before.

  I look terrible.

  With her skirt, blouse, and flats in the shopping bag, she left the empty, brown suitcase pushed under the sink. Her note instructed her to keep it open to prevent any alarms of a potential bomb threat of an unattended bag in a bathroom.

  Liz walked to the door and pulled her black hood over her head. One last deep sigh came from her as she looked down to the floor and walked out of the restroom.

  The crowd of people had grown since Liz went inside the restroom. The passengers hoarded like cattle to the boarding gate area. A small passageway between the restroom and the growing crowd gave her the perfect opportunity.

  Liz walked away from the boarding area unnoticed, going by the neighboring Gate B1 and out through Security back to the ticketing area of the airport. People still flocked into and out of the terminal building on this extra busy Christmas Day. She blended in with everyone as she exited through the sliding glass doors to the outside world.

  Christmas Day, 2005, 1:20 p.m.

  THE MANIC EXCITEMENT around the airport was palpable with familiar Christmas carols playing from the speakers under the bright lights inside the terminal building. Hundreds of eager passengers waited in queues in front of the different airline kiosks. Travelers, weary from weather delays, exited the airport. Excited travelers entered ready to get to their final destinations. Outside, honking horns, squealing timing belts, and spinning tires provided the musical chorus.

  This chaos allowed Liz to walk easily unnoticed from Security to exit the airline terminal. In her inconspicuous sweat clothes and sneakers; Liz drew no attention to herself. This is how she wanted it to be.

  She hurried across the street dodging an arriving taxi and a departing shuttle bus.

  Good. There's the sign for the Ramada Inn bus.

  A heavy sigh released her stress as she waited. A young couple, each pulling their luggage, approached.

  Ah, there it is.

  A red-and-blue-painted bus stopped at the waiting area. Liz stepped up into the bus and took a seat in the back as the young couple sat in front. The driver attempted to make small talk.

  Oh, thank, God, they will talk with him.

  Liz drew no attention. The couple replied to his banter.

  She overheard the driver explain the three stops needed before they arrive at the hotel. Her chest heaved as these stops gave her time to catch her breath from her excitement of sneaking away. Her shopping bag crinkled with each jolt over the speed bumps. No one else got on the bus… to her relief.

  As the bus left the airport, Liz slipped her hand inside her bag. She carefully held a folded note cupped in her palm. The paper contained sets of numbers. Her handwritten letters formed the secret words instructing her actions.

  Liz held her head down avoiding eye contact under her black hood. Strands of gray hair slipped from their cover across her shoulders. A sudden shift left in her seat snapped her attention from her note. They had arrived at the hotel.

  The couple exited first followed by Liz passing the driver without a word. She stopped short of entering through the hotel glass doors. A roar from the bus engine caused Liz to look back. Her head turned side-to-side.

  I don't think anyone is following?

  She inhaled filling her chest full of the cool Christmas air. The hotel glass doors opened. Air escaped from her lungs. The glass doors closed behind her. Her gray hair flowed as she pulled her hood off her head and approached the front desk.

  Be confident. Like I’ve been here before.

  “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

  Liz had practiced her response for days. “My son, Joseph, is flying into Houston tonight and checking-in here later. Because of the snowstorm, he wasn’t sure if he’d make home in time for Christmas.”

  She remembered to look sad as she spoke. “We’ve never missed a Christmas together.” Liz forced a tear that fell down her face. “But, just in case, he mailed me a package, here.”

  “Oh, uh, okay…” The hotel clerk paused. His upper lip pressed down as Liz spoke. “Let me check. What’s your name?”

  “Yes, my name is Martha Flemington.”

  “Flemington… Flemington, ah…” The clerk typed into his computer. “Yes, I have a reservation for him tonight. Excuse me one-second.”

  The clerk stepped around the corner of the wall
behind the front desk. A few seconds had passed until he returned holding a large manila envelope. “Here’s your package. Can I see some identification please?”

  “Oh, uh… sure.” Liz hesitated shifting her eyes from his. “Here,” she said giving the clerk her driver’s license.

  An earlier note had instructed Liz on how to obtain a fake license. Living in Houston with the influx of illegals, finding a place was easy to locate for the right price.

  “Okay, great Ms. Flemington. Here’s your package, and we hope your son enjoys his stay with us.”

  “Okay, thank you… merry Christmas.” Liz grasped the package tight against her chest and turned away from the clerk.

  A red, over-sized sofa welcomed her across the lobby. In her lap, she held the padded envelope addressed to her, or at least to a Ms. Flemington. Liz inspected the package holding it inches from her eyes.

  I don’t recognize the handwriting?

  She pulled the tab on the corner of the envelope. The darkness inside the opening kept its contents secret. Her fingers reached inside to the bottom.

  Feels like a credit card.

  Liz slipped the item between her fingertips and freed her hand from the envelope. She held a hotel key. Written in black ink was the number 201.

  Is this where I’m supposed to go, next?

  Fear froze Liz. Uncertainty caused her heavy, quick breathing to return. Her confidence was gone.

  I should have told Joseph what I’m doing... I should have made Martha come with me...

  The hotel glass doors opened, startling her. She threw the key back into the envelope. Liz turned her head toward the opening doors; a man in a wheelchair rolled into the lobby to the front desk.

  Okay, Girl. Calm down. You’ve been looking forward to seeing him for six years, now. And, today… it will finally happen. All the questions I have... like why did he leave us?

  Her internal pep talk worked. Confidence returned catapulting her to the elevator. Liz pressed up. The arrow above the elevator illuminated red. A simultaneous chime signaled the opening doors. Air gulped down her throat as she pressed the second-floor button.

  As the elevator doors closed, a hand entered appearing in the gap two feet from the floor. The low placement of the hand frightened her.

  The doors reversed open. “Room for one more?” the man in the wheelchair asked smiling.

  “Oh, sure,” Liz said as she stepped back giving him room to enter. “What floor?”

  “Three, please.”

  The elevator doors closed. Relief overcame her since he was not getting off on her floor. A secret part of her wished he was in case she needed to scream for help.

  The elevator stopped on the second floor. The doors opened.

  “Merry Christmas,” the man said. She jumped with his silence-piercing comment.

  “Oh, you too, merry Christmas,” Liz said not able to turn around in time to see the man’s face as the doors closed.

  A narrow, red-carpeted hallway with matching red walls stretched from the elevator. Her breathing matched her slow, short steps. The blue doors counted down from Room 210 as she dragged her feet down the hall. She stopped at the last door. Room 201. Her breathing was shallow.

  Liz clenched the key tight in her sweaty right hand. The white shopping bag dangled by her left side. She paused the key an inch from sliding into the key slot.

  Maybe I should knock, first?

  With a needed deep breath, she spun her right hand around and gave three light taps on the door.

  Run, get out of here. Her thoughts rushed to her. No, I have too many questions.

  She tapped three more times. Louder. Each knock echoed through the empty hallway. No answer.

  “Okay, here goes nothing,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Sweat rolled down her palm as she slid the key into the slot. Two small red lights flashed; the door did not unlock. Liz tried again, slipping the card slower. One small green light appeared with a faint click; the door unlocked.

  She grabbed the handle and cracked the door open. “Hello? Anybody here?” Her voice cracked into the darkness of the room.

  No reply. She pushed the door open. Her reservation about going into a stranger's hotel room was clear with the door’s slow pace.

  “Hello? This is Liz… Eli, is that you?”

  Christmas Day, 2005, 3:45 p.m.

  LIZ SAT IN THE CORNER of the empty hotel room in a brown, leather recliner. Her white shopping bag rested on the made, queen-sized bed. The rhythm of dripping water from the bathroom alternated with the ticking clock on the nightstand beside her.

  The wooden door muffled conversations of people as they passed the room. Faint beats of music from a radio or television in the adjoining room pounded in sync with her anxious heart. No clothes were in the closets or inside any drawer. Nothing was under the bed. The room was empty.

  Liz was alone with her thoughts. These instructions must be a joke. I’ve been fooling myself. There’s no way Eli’s alive… We had his funeral… But, I never saw his body… The messages I've received… No one knew our secret coded language.

  Her internal conversations of doubt drowned the silence in the room. That was until a quick knock occurred on the other side of the door. The tapping caused Liz to jump from the chair and stand in a defensive position unsure what to do.

  “Housekeeping,” a female’s voice said from outside in the hallway.

  Oh, it’s just the cleaning lady.

  Liz peeked through the door’s eyepiece. A Hispanic woman in a gray uniform stood outside beside a cart full of towels and toiletries. She looked to be in her late twenties.

  It really is housekeeping. Liz sighed as she opened the door.

  “Housekeeping, can I come in?”

  Liz’s relief to see, to speak to anyone pressed her quick response. “Oh yeah, sure.” Liz stepped back to allow the lady to come into the room with her bucket of cleaning supplies in hand. “The room is not that dirty or anything?”

  “Sî, dat’s okay,” the lady said as she walked in and out of the bathroom dusting the furniture.

  Liz sat again in the chair and asked, “Have you seen anyone else in here?”

  “Señora, it’s a hotel,” the cleaning lady said sitting her bucket on the floor by the door.

  “No, I mean, have you seen anyone else in this room, today?”

  The lady continued cleaning. “No, Señora.”

  Liz kept staring at the lady as she cleaned.

  Huh, she looks familiar… “Have we met before? My name is Liz… uh… Elizabeth.”

  The lady stopped her dusting motion. Her cloth swung back-and-forth in the air. She stood straight, turned and faced Liz. “Did anyone follow you?”

  Gone was her Hispanic accent replaced by a noticeable Texan drawl. The question pushed Liz down on the chair. Her eyes widened. Wrinkles deepened on her forehead.

  “This is important, were you followed?” the woman asked.

  Liz scanned around the room. “Uh, um… no… I… I don’t think so. I followed all the instructions from the messages.”

  “And, you went through Airport Security to your gate and changed clothes?”

  In a state of shock, Liz replied, “Uh, yes.”

  “And, you took the shuttle bus here and left your car in the parking lot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, then they’ll think you’re on that flight to Florida?”

  “They?”

  “Yes, they, the people responsible for the events in all the pictures I sent?”

  “Wait, it… it was you that sent me the coded messages?”

  The lady went to the window and pulled the curtains closed. The room fell into complete darkness until she turned on the floor lamp beside the air conditioning unit where Liz sat. “Yes, I sent all those to you.”

  “But… but, the codes… how—”

  “Sorry about that. It was a dirty way to contact you, but I didn’t think you’d believe me if I hadn’t.” The la
dy walked over and sat on the edge of the bed facing Liz. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but we have to be very careful.”

  Liz stood from the chair to leave the room. The lady grabbed Liz's wrist as she passed her on the bed. Her grasp on Liz was as tight as someone trying to climb a rope.

  “Liz, I knew Eli.” She released her wrist.

  “What do you mean, you knew Eli? You can’t be but what at most thirty years old… he’s been dead since—”

  “Thanksgiving 1979, right?”

  Confirmation of the date stopped Liz from leaving. Liz faced the woman. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Ruth… and, I knew your husband, Eli.”

  Christmas Day, 2005, 4:11 p.m.

  AN UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE settled in the hotel room. Several moments had passed. Liz remained motionless in the middle of the floor. She glared at Ruth, and Ruth stared at Liz.

  Liz sat back in the chair facing Ruth, who sat on the edge of the bed. “So, other than knowing our code and my husband’s name, how can I believe you?”

  “Liz, you have to have faith in me. I… I met Eli in the hospital.”

  “When?”

  “In 1996, I had attempted suicide, and my aunt had me committed.”

  “Committed?”

  “Yeah, I was a danger to myself. For days, I sat and stared out the window of the common area on our floor. That’s when I met him.”

  “Eli? My Eli… my Eli, who was shot and murdered in 1979… that Eli?”

  Ruth paused. “Yes, that Eli. Someone had committed him several years before I got there. One day, he pulled up a chair beside me, and we talked. He kept calling me his Elizabeth. To be honest, that place scared me, so I just played along.”

  “Okay, help me here? You’re saying that my dead husband was in a psychiatric hospital with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s it; you’re a crazy person. What you’re saying explains everything,” Liz said with an uneasy laugh leaning forward.

  “If he died in 1979, how do I know his name… your name… the stupid code y’all used to do?”

  Liz did not answer her questions.

  “He kept calling me his Elizabeth and passed me these notes… but, they were just a bunch of numbers. One day, I asked him to explain, and that’s when he showed me how to understand his code.”