Requiem of Revenge

Adie?

I wished I could care as she vanished from my view; the plane had started twisting free of the gate. I wished I could feel more than the forced twinge of regret, formed by what last bit of morality I had.

But I didn’t.

Within minutes, we were up in the air. A movie was playing up above, on the fuzzy compressed television screens. I watched the mute characters move aimlessly across the boxes for a while, but eventually gave up and stared out the window.

Now that I was in a brief moment of calm, my paranoia faded and fear took over. It seemed as though I wasn’t able to realize the foolishness of what I was doing until there was no going back. Subconsciously I leaned my forehead against the window glass.

There were no clues, no miniscule hints of the slightest kind to help me figure out where Mike was. Absolutely nothing. Yes, he was in New York City. Oh, that was easy. Only, what was it, eight million people there?

Sure, no problem. I’d be back before dinner.

I pushed away from the window and put my head in my hands. The woman sitting next to me glanced at me oddly, but I paid no notice.

It was do or die at this point. If I went back home without something to show for it, there’d be no explaining this to my family, or Mike’s. I couldn’t just tell them that I’d been looking for him, but just given up because it was too hard. They’d kill me.

But then again…I reviewed the tape in my head again.

You will give me everything, everything you stole from me all those years ago.

Meaning…?

“Shit.”

Meaning that to get back my best friend, I’d lose my wife and children. I’d have no house, no money, no belongings. Except a friend who, for all I knew, was already dead by now!

I swore again.

This could be a trap. After all, wasn’t that what Marcus tried to pull last time? Just a ruse? Was Mike still back in California, lured away while I went on a wild goose chase? Was this just a way to kill me?

He’d also done a ruse with the car accident, after all…

The car accident?

That wasn’t an option either. Not unless I miraculously found an Ouija board in the city Dumpster. No one sold those things anymore. Supposedly they were useless and only terrified people out of their wits.

Although it might be possible if I found a psychic to do it for me, I had no guarantee that they would do anything. And money was precious. I didn’t have any credit cards; once I was out, I was out.

“Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”

I was startled from my thoughts as the dull voice broke through the murmurs. I’d be landing in Chicago, and then from there I’d book a flight to New York City as quickly as possible. The odds were not in my favor though. The sun was rapidly making its descent towards evening. I’d probably have to stay the night.

“Thanks,” I muttered as my taxi, now having had dropped me off at my destination, drove off in a cloud of smoke. I felt abandoned.

I’d booked my flight for seven in the morning the next day. I would have to get up about four in the morning, but it would be worth it.

The only hotel that would take me in at such short notice was an old ratty Breakfast Inn, which was filled to the brim with stoners, smokers and prostitutes. I didn't even go to the bar that night--I could hear and smell sex, fighting and drugs through the thin walls without going inside.

Ah, the beauty of Chicago.