‹ Prequel: When Three Becomes Two
Requiem of Revenge
Chapter 5
I screeched madly to a halt in front of the airport. My tires skidded wildly as though they were on ice, nearly bashing in the cars parked nearby, but I could care less.
I dashed to the ticket counter, but stopped in horror. The line was far too long, stretching far across the airport and well past what I could see, snaking into some distant hallway.
Standing there with my overflowing suitcase, I reviewed my options. Waiting in line would be horribly risky. If Estelle let anything slip, or Adie guessed what was happening, she’d be here before I could leave. The airport was barely fifteen minutes from our home, and it seemed as though the line would take at least an hour.
Or, I could cut the line. But that’d be risky as well—someone would notice, security would throw me out, and I’d have to go by car.
Hesitantly I stood, glancing back and forth from the end of the line to the ticket counter. I must have looked like a trapped rat.
Sighing, I made my way to the back of the line.
People stared the whole time I was in line. I was still terrified of being found out, and I looked back at the door to see if someone was coming for me so often it seemed like I had a bad twitch.
An hour and a half later, I was finally at the front of the line. My foot tapped impatiently, like a metronome. Once someone was free, I zipped up to the clerk and threw my money down.
“Um, one ticket to…er…” I turned toward the flight board. She analyzed my expression strangely.
“Yeah…one ticket to…Chicago.” It was the best one available; it was on time and leaving in forty minutes.
After several more tense minutes, she handed me the ticket.
“You’d better hurry,” she said, pursing her lips disapprovingly.
“Thanks!”
I had no carry-on to slow me down, luckily, and I made a beeline for security. I must have looked suspicious to them, the way I jumped when people came too close, and how little luggage I had. It took at least another half-hour to get through the line. What was up with these people, anyway? Why was it so crowded?
Once I was out of there, I had to run for my gate. They were just closing the doors when I stumbled in, panting and apologizing, and handed them the boarding pass.
It was when my right foot was on the tunnel floor when I heard a half-broken woman’s voice scream,
“NO! Don’t go!”
I winced and bit my lip, determined not to look back to see who it was.
As I sat down on the plane, I realized I had a window seat facing the airport. Out of curiosity, I looked inside.
Yes, I could clearly see the silhouette of a woman, hands pressed against the glass. Her mouth was wide open and moving, her movements frantic, and I imagined her demanding and crying for them to take me back.
I dashed to the ticket counter, but stopped in horror. The line was far too long, stretching far across the airport and well past what I could see, snaking into some distant hallway.
Standing there with my overflowing suitcase, I reviewed my options. Waiting in line would be horribly risky. If Estelle let anything slip, or Adie guessed what was happening, she’d be here before I could leave. The airport was barely fifteen minutes from our home, and it seemed as though the line would take at least an hour.
Or, I could cut the line. But that’d be risky as well—someone would notice, security would throw me out, and I’d have to go by car.
Hesitantly I stood, glancing back and forth from the end of the line to the ticket counter. I must have looked like a trapped rat.
Sighing, I made my way to the back of the line.
People stared the whole time I was in line. I was still terrified of being found out, and I looked back at the door to see if someone was coming for me so often it seemed like I had a bad twitch.
An hour and a half later, I was finally at the front of the line. My foot tapped impatiently, like a metronome. Once someone was free, I zipped up to the clerk and threw my money down.
“Um, one ticket to…er…” I turned toward the flight board. She analyzed my expression strangely.
“Yeah…one ticket to…Chicago.” It was the best one available; it was on time and leaving in forty minutes.
After several more tense minutes, she handed me the ticket.
“You’d better hurry,” she said, pursing her lips disapprovingly.
“Thanks!”
I had no carry-on to slow me down, luckily, and I made a beeline for security. I must have looked suspicious to them, the way I jumped when people came too close, and how little luggage I had. It took at least another half-hour to get through the line. What was up with these people, anyway? Why was it so crowded?
Once I was out of there, I had to run for my gate. They were just closing the doors when I stumbled in, panting and apologizing, and handed them the boarding pass.
It was when my right foot was on the tunnel floor when I heard a half-broken woman’s voice scream,
“NO! Don’t go!”
I winced and bit my lip, determined not to look back to see who it was.
As I sat down on the plane, I realized I had a window seat facing the airport. Out of curiosity, I looked inside.
Yes, I could clearly see the silhouette of a woman, hands pressed against the glass. Her mouth was wide open and moving, her movements frantic, and I imagined her demanding and crying for them to take me back.