by Patrick Wong
It was clear the attendant hadn’t received a reply. She knocked again, this time more urgently. And, after another uncomfortable pause, she spun on her heel and grabbed a phone, which Ben presumed was connected to the cockpit.
Ben switched off his tablet and leaned forward. Something in him was telling him to watch this.
Sure enough, moments later, a smartly dressed pilot — the second officer, Ben assumed — accompanied the attendant to the door. He gave knocking a try, and, after waiting an appropriate amount of time, nodded to the attendant. She brought out a small screwdriver and flipped over what Ben could see was the no-smoking sign.
The officer glanced at his colleague and then began to ease open the door. Ben hadn’t even had a moment to ponder whether all no-smoking signs did that before, suddenly, the door burst open, knocking the second officer back a few feet.
And there stood Allen.
The first thing Ben noticed was that he looked different. Maniacal. Ben scanned Allen up and down like the Terminator did when studying potential threats, and Ben caught sight of something that would be seared into his memory forever.
Allen held a knife in one hand and a gun in the other.
A numbness hit Ben then.
Allen lunged, bringing his fist forward and forcing the flight attendant backward. She screamed, which got the attention of the rest of the cabin. Her scream wasn’t just one of surprise, though — it turned into a gargled exclamation of pain.
Pulling his hand away from the attendant, Allen revealed a knife with blood on it.
The attendant crumpled to the floor.
Ben gulped in shock — that harmless guy who had been sitting next to him had just stabbed a woman.
“Nobody move!” Allen shouted, and the cabin fell deathly quiet, except for a child who had begun to cry, which somehow summed up the fears of all the passengers suddenly trying to keep calm.
His heart beating in his throat, Ben glanced back at Nicole, who shot him a decisive look. He knew she would be able to do something, but things were moving so fast that it was hard to tell what was going to be possible.
Ben’s thoughts began to race. There was a tipping point, wasn’t there? A small but crucial window of opportunity during a hijack when the balance could swing either way? It occurred to Ben that this was now, but he was too far away from Allen to reach him, and no one up front appeared to be taking action, dazed as they were.
Then, the silence was broken.
Allen pointed the gun at the second officer and cried out, almost pleading.
“Get out of my way!”
Were those tears in his eyes? This was not the classic expression of a heartless hijacker.
The second officer, too stunned to react properly, put his hands up.
“I can’t let you pass.”
“Then … I’m so sorry.” And with that, a loud bang ripped through the aircraft. It was all happening so quickly, and not like in the movies. No dialogue. No pleading. It was like a song that had jumped straight to the end, and suddenly a man and a woman were dying in front of Ben’s eyes.
Pandemonium reigned in the cabin, with the students and the adults alike wailing and trying to keep themselves safe. In a metal tube thousands of feet up in the air, however, there were few places to hide.
Allen seemed to spy the cockpit door ajar then, and, without a moment’s more thought, he ran inside it and locked it shut behind him.
Ben swallowed.
A crazed man with a knife and a gun was now in the cockpit.
People were screaming.
The balance had swung in the hijacker’s favor.
Becoming a Lone Wolf
Agent Bishop sighed with frustration and pushed away the paperwork that was wriggling and gasping its last breaths in the net of bureaucracy yet again. His PRESS (Paranormal Research, Enforcement and Surveillance Service) team had securely bugged the Aaronson house, tapped the family’s cell phones, and kept Nicole under tight watch since she’d killed Agent Carter. But the one time he’d tried to get the central agency to help out, nada.
At least he’d secured access to the state-of-the-art PRESS jet. He and his team were preparing to fly to Florida to continue surveillance of Nicole on a compressed timeline. The federal jet allowed them to make progress faster than they’d be able to if they had to fly a regular commercial airliner. And, more importantly, this jet was custom-designed for mobile intelligence operations, allowing his team to manage any operation in real time.
Unfortunately, some delay in higher-level security requests meant that his orders hadn’t gotten approved in time, and not a single one of his agents was on Nicole’s flight. That was two hours of information blackout that he was never going to get back. And Nicole wasn’t stupid; she’d figure it out, and then who knew what she’d do.
That was the one big question that remained on Bishop’s mind. Hell, ever since he’d pulled out the charred remains of his PRESS partner, Agent Carter, from the forest, he’d known that he had underestimated the sweet-looking, freckled teen. Officer Gillespie couldn’t have known the complexity of it all, but he had blindsided Bishop. The state trooper had been right, of course: Without evidence, Bishop could only go on a hunch that Nicole was responsible for Agent Carter’s death, and she couldn’t be arrested. There was no proof that she had done it — only circumstantial evidence. PRESS wasn’t ready to preach to the world about Balancers and the dangers they posed. Could they take her without proper court orders? Not likely. A teen going missing like that would draw too much attention. Plus, her mother was cast-iron in her alibi. Dr. Aaronson, a respected pediatric doctor, hadn’t blinked an eye when offering the times and places she had been with her daughter. Of course this contradicted the times Nicole would have had to have been present at the forest razing.
For Bishop, the word “frustrating” didn’t do the situation justice.
He’d lost sleep trying to make sense of all the evidence that had turned up after Carter’s passing. “Passing” — so delicate a word for that terrifying, burned-out mass. Papers, emails, secret calls. Bishop had been able to access them all for a few fleeting hours after Carter’s death, and then everything had disappeared.
So far, he’d established that Carter had been communicating all the mission data to someone else. Thinking of this made Bishop even more furious, because he’d had a hunch about it before Carter’s death. Those furtive text messages his partner had sent, the lateness every now and then, and the mid-distance staring that had distracted him in the middle of investigations. The slipping in of alien terms and specialist knowledge that had made Bishop hesitate back then now all clicked into place.
Bishop had worried phone messages from his sister that confirmed that his already-minimal family communication had slipped to embarrassingly nonexistent. Dark circles bagged his already heavy glare, and he had silver streaks in his hair where the anxiousness had taken a toll. In a matter of hours, Bishop had gone from driving forward a secret investigation into paranormal phenomena with his PRESS partner to becoming a lone wolf, thwarted by the upper echelons of his own organization.
So, each time the central agency blocked his plans, he would have to think up something else. It was beginning to feel like a game of chess — laying down one move while pre-empting the five or 10 countermoves from whatever faceless force was trying to stop his investigation.
He could sit back with some satisfaction in the knowledge that his PRESS team was already on its way to Florida to find and follow Nicole at the Orlando airport. That was a power in his jurisdiction that he was happy to use, and he’d be damned if anyone dared try to take it away from him.
Removing his reading glasses, Bishop savored a rare few seconds of brain rest. He rubbed his tired eyes — so little sleep for so long now — and massaged the bridge of his nose.
A gentle rap on his office door brought forth a sigh from deep within.
What now?
“Sir?”
Bishop opened his e
yes and looked up with as much as patience as he could muster.
The expression on his deputy’s face broke the news before he even said a word.
“Sir, it’s about Flight 91 …”
In-Flight Gifts
Despite the chaos, a small girl in a simple, plain-colored dress came skipping down the aisle of the airplane in her bare feet, singing to herself. The lyrics to the song weren’t in English, but rather were French-sounding words. Her long brown hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks, and her feet were filthy. She appeared to be about 12 or 13.
The girl seemed out of place on the plane, so Nicole suspected she was having one of her hallucinations.
When the little girl reached Nicole’s aisle, she bent over to whisper in Nicole’s ear. “Give me your hand. God has something for you.”
Nicole looked at her beautiful blue eyes.
“Who are you?”
“I am one of three. Give me your hand.”
“One of three? Is this like that story A Christmas Carol?”
“Give me your hand. There is no need to fear, for you are the strongest and most powerful of them all.”
“OK, but quite frankly, you are freaking me out a little. You’re the first one of my hallucinations that’s ever talked to me.”
“But we have a gift for you. You must take this.”
Nicole couldn’t hear any sounds of the airplane or the panicked cries of the students surrounding her. She could hear only the voice of the child in front of her.
“OK, fine.” Won over by the girl’s pleading stare and resolving to stay strong in the face of this recent hallucination, Nicole extended her hand to receive the offering. Out of thin air, the girl revealed a magnificent sword and placed it delicately in Nicole’s outstretched hand.
“That’s a sword. I’m on a plane. Exactly what am I supposed to do with this?” Nicole asked, looking around her to see whether any of the other passengers had noticed her speaking to the girl.
“Your time has begun. You choose what is right.”
The girl then continued to skip down the aisle to the back of the plane before disappearing around the corner near the bathrooms. Nicole made a mental note to tell Amy about the girl and the sword later, given that now was not the best time.
Within moments of the girl having faded into the back of the jet, Amy, Ben and Drake had come together in the narrow aisle by Nicole. As the sight of her friends became clearer, Nicole’s image of the sword in her hand faded away.
Only an ominous silence emanated from the seized cockpit, and no threats had been dealt to the passengers. Everyone’s mind was on what was going on at the front of the plane, who was flying the plane, and what that person’s intentions were. All around them students were hopelessly dialing 911 on their cell phones, trying in vain to reach their parents. The four friends were working quickly to get some kind of plan together.
The first idea was the obvious one given they had Nicole — to see whether she could Balance the hijacker against either the wounded second officer or flight attendant. An off-duty pilot had already moved up front and begun taking charge — not an easy feat given the planeload of hysterical students. In the chaos, Jason had also rushed up to the front of the plane and was desperately trying to administer first aid to save the victims’ lives.
The four friends got themselves up close, but they hadn’t even had the opportunity to talk to the second officer before the off-duty pilot swatted them back. How to explain that Nicole could save lives and get to the hijacker in one fell swoop?
With her usual carefree manner, Amy was able to lie and make a fuss, wailing that she was the attendant’s younger sister. She held the ailing woman’s hand and tenderly brushed back her hair, her mind racing.
Jason moved over to the flight attendant’s side.
“You’re her sister? What’s her name?”
“Of course I am. It’s Jeanine.”
Luckily, Amy had had enough time to glance at the attendant’s badge.
Jason took a breath and tried his best to speak to the woman in a calm voice. “Jeanine? Can you hear me?”
“Is she going to be OK?” Amy asked.
Jason made a few cursory checks while remaining cool under pressure.
“Amy, she’s going to be OK. We thought she’d been stabbed, and there’s blood to indicate it, but turns out it’s just a grazing somewhere.” Jason lifted the attendant’s vest to reveal intact skin underneath.
Amy frowned her unspoken query Nicole’s way.
Nicole shook her head.
Amy let out a disappointed, matter-of-fact “Crap.”
Jason glared up at Amy, puzzled.
Amy opted to style it out. “Well, this outfit is totally ruined! My sister paid a lot of money for that uniform.”
“I’m sure the airline will refund her,” Jason murmured, though with a tone that suggested his sentence might as well have been, “Your sister just got stabbed and you’re worried about her outfit?”
Either way, Nicole knew she now had to focus her efforts on the second officer.
Jason stood up, stumbled a little, and began to walk back to his seat. “Sorry, guys. I’m feeling a little queasy. I need to sit down for a bit.”
“Thanks, Jason. You were wonderful,” Nicole assured him as he walked away.
Ben, meanwhile, wondered what was so wonderful about doing nothing. How could this guy continue to steal Nicole’s attention by doing nothing?
The off-duty pilot put one arm around Drake’s shoulder and shook his hand. “I’m Raymond.”
“Drake.”
“I’m going to check out the cockpit door.” Raymond handed Drake a first-aid kit and motioned to the second officer lying on the floor. “Do what you can with this. And just stay with him and keep him alert.”
“Sure thing.” Drake got on the ground and opened the first-aid kit to take inventory. First-aid spray, gauze, pads, tape. The spray had an anesthetic, which would dull some of the pain. He got to work on the gunshot wound on the man’s chest, cleaning the wound and applying pressure using the gauze.
Nicole knew this was her time. She joined Drake and the wounded man on the floor of the cabin.
“Can you tell me your first name?” she whispered down to the second officer. He had light gray hair, and, under the airplane lights, Nicole could see flecks of formerly red locks.
“Liam,” he replied.
“Liam,” she said quietly, a smile on her lips. “Hi. I’m Nicole.”
The second officer smiled weakly.
“Liam, I’m going to keep you talking so you stay awake, OK? So, what’s your best memory?”
The older man appeared puzzled at this line of questioning and coughed in pain. He looked around to see whether anybody else was coming to his aid, but when he realized Nicole and Drake were the only ones, he decided to respond. If he was going to die, at least he wouldn’t be alone.
“Well, when I was 12, I scored the winning goal in an ice hockey competition.”
“Wow.” Nicole reflected on how it would feel to do that — the excitement, the glory.
“But …” He coughed again, the racking pain seizing him. “The best thing about it was being lifted onto my teammates’ shoulders. The view from up there …” He managed a smile then — 12 again and hoisted back up to a bird’s-eye view, gliding around the stadium in a victory lap. “I saw my dad as we skated past. It’s just a blur, his face. A moment, but I will never forget it. He looked so proud.”
Nicole touched Liam’s cheek. Then, when she felt ready, she looked up at Ben.
“Tell me about the hijacker.”
Anytime Nicole needed him, Ben felt his life had more purpose. And he was up to the challenge.
“His name was Allen,” Ben said. “Sort of my height, balding, sweating, brown eyes, stubble, has a wife. She didn’t come today. He seemed pretty nervous, though now I can see why. He had a 3-D printer with him. He must have used that in the bathroom to make the
gun and the knife. I can’t believe somebody would do something like that.” Ben gestured to the wounded second officer and the flight attendant.
“Anything else?”
“He was right there at the front of the plane waving a gun and a knife,” Drake said plainly. “Did you miss that?”
“No, I didn’t get a good enough sense of him,” Nicole replied.
“Wonder why that was,” Drake commented. Amy shot him a look.
“What, am I supposed to be on duty, like, 24/7?” Nicole snapped back uncharacteristically.
“Nix?” a shocked Amy protested.
Nicole could feel her heart pound with anger. How dare they judge her for having a little fun for once when they spent all their time fawning and giggling over each other. Didn’t they see how hard it was for her to have this power? The responsibility …
“Nix?” Amy’s concern interrupted Nicole’s furious train of thought. She laid a hand on her arm. ”Nix, he’s worried. We’re all afraid. You need to stay calm and do this thing.” She turned to Ben. “Ben, go check out the bathroom to see if the guy left anything behind that might help us. I’ll stay with Nicole.”
Ben seemed reluctant, but he left them to it.
Amy put her forehead on Nicole’s to get her to attention. “Now focus, Nix,” she whispered.
“I didn’t think … I’m sorry.” Nicole knew she was losing it a little.
“Focus. Please.”
Nicole scrunched her eyes shut. There was fear in this darkness, but she set her mind on Allen. In the few seconds she had seen him, he was so strange, so out of it. But he’d also had tears in his eyes. What were they for? Did he even want to be hijacking this plane? Or was something else in control right now? She thought of him leaving his wife at home, how he must have said goodbye to her knowing what he was about to do. Then she could hear the few words he had shouted out on the plane, and Nicole tried to use those as anchors.
She then pictured a young Liam, elevated on the shoulders of his teammates, and tried to imagine herself in the group, skates on her feet, feeling the ice slide beneath her, with her arms lifting Liam too. But even before she could get a sense of Liam’s pain in his current state, Allen suddenly slipped away from her. She was sure she’d had a hold, but it was fleeting. He had vanished from her awareness.
