Craig Stanton, age 47, happily married father of three. An engineering consultant by profession, an introvert by temperament, Mr. Stanton is a member of that elite group of air travelers known as "Skygods", a man who spends more time in the air than many of the flight crews who serve him. Most would consider this lifestyle glamorous, but for Mr. Stanton the allure of flying long ago lost its luster. He now spends most of his time aboard man made flying machines trying to avoid all human contact, especially that of his fellow passengers. Tonight he will fail spectacularly in his intent, however, as his airborne existence will be suddenly interrupted by a most unwelcome visitor… from the Twilight Zone.
"Nice to see you again, Mr. Stanton, glad you made it," the flight attendant purred, the Pan Am smile that never touched her eyes spread wide across her face.
"Uh, hi."
They all acted like they knew him, though he rarely saw the same crew twice.
"3D again this time?"
He did a double take.
"You've seen me before, I guess?"
The smile grew wider as she held up an iPhone.
"No, Mr. Stanton, it's just noted here in your profile."
He found this slightly disturbing, but ignored it.
"Well, uh, yes, I'm in 3 delta."
She nodded once and motioned him toward the nearer aisle to their right.
"Very good, this way Mr. Stanton, as you can see we have the nice plane today."
He knew this of course. That was why he booked this flight and not one of the many others available on the route. United ran one 777 flight per day between Los Angeles and Newark and this was it. The rest were narrow bodies – and he hated narrow bodies. You either crawled over someone to go to the bathroom or someone crawled over you. On this 777 the business class cabin had a middle section of two seats in between the two aisles. This was prime real estate where no one bothered you. All he had to worry about was whether the person in the seat next to him would want to talk. He had reduced seat selection to a science and it was rare that he did not score the best seat on every flight.
Craig passed the flight attendant and scanned the cabin quickly as he turned the corner from the jet way. He sighed with relief as he completed his survey. The business class cabin was half empty – including, miracle of miracles, seat 3E. This was a rare treat as 3E was almost as sought after as his own.
"Yes!" his mind exulted as he maneuvered his carry on down the aisle to claim his prize.
Unlike like most business class passengers he always tried to board last. This avoided demeaning line jockeying at the gate and the pre-flight chat with whoever was seated next to him which he always despised. It also eliminated the agonizing wait to see if the seat would be taken if it was empty when you first boarded.
As he put his wheelie away in the overhead bin the announcement speakers crackled to life.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer Jobeth Williams speaking. Captain Mike Nelson and I would like to welcome you on board United flight 152 service to Newark's Liberty International Airport. Flight time tonight will be approximately five hours and twenty two minutes. Should be a smooth ride today. Once we're airborne we'll go ahead and turn off the fasten seat belt sign. At that time it'll be safe for you to move about the cabin…"
Craig tuned out the rest of the pilot's message. He'd heard it a hundred times if he'd heard it once. All he cared about was the flight time.
He sat down heavily and removed his shoes, carefully storing them in the small space underneath the plastic shell of the seat pod in front of him. He sat back and fastened his seat belt, scanning the cabin once more out of habit. The familiar dark blue and battleship grey of the aircraft's interior comforted him, but he could see the forward cabin door was still open. The flight attendant who had greeted him was fiddling with the cabin automation panel. Another was preparing to hand out hot towels. Why wouldn't they close the damn thing already? He was pretty sure he had been the last person to board, at least the gate area had been empty when he had finally sneaked up to the podium to scan his boarding pass.
Putting aside his concern he produced his cell phone and dialed the only person he ever really wanted to speak to. The phone didn't even complete its first ring before it was answered.
"Hi honey!" came the voice on the other end.
"Hey sweety!" he responded, "I'm on the plane home."
"Oh good! I love you so much! How did it go?"
"Pretty good, the client liked the solution, so I think they'll bring it up to their board."
"So… we're okay for Hawaii, right?"
If things had gone badly there was a chance they'd have to cancel their vacation. He was happy to allay the fear. He'd have two days at home before he turned right around and headed for Honolulu with his wife, but that was one flight he was actually anticipating with pleasure. Henry would go fishing with his Uncle Chris and the girls would stay with Aunt Courtney and her family in Connecticut. Hawaii was his private getaway with the woman he still didn't believe had married him.
"You bet, hon, we're all set for beaches, volcanoes and star gazing. Their BOD won't meet until next month so even if they want me there it won't be a problem."
He looked up to see the flight attendant still fiddling with the panel, the door to the jet way still stubbornly open.
"Yes! Oh that's wonderful! I can't wait hon, I'm so excited! Anyway, how does this flight look? Gonna be okay?"
Kerry didn't fly except for vacation, but she knew as much as he did about the life of a Skygod from the endless stories he related.
"Looks great! Business is half empty – including the seat next to me!"
"Awesome! So you won't have to listen to some guy complain about his anal warts?"
He chuckled, "No, or that dude that wouldn't shut up about his kids going to Harvard, how he commuted to Shanghai every week and how generally awesome his life was."
"Yeh, or the Mormon."
Craig shivered. That was the one that had set him against talking to fellow passengers many years ago. Eight hours straight of aggressive proselytization on a flight from Frankfurt to Newark had caught him contemplating painless methods of suicide.
"Oh, god, yes, that was bad. I still think the best though was the guy who insisted that the flight attendants smell everyone's ass to find out who was farting!"
That one was funny now, but at the time had been very ugly. The passenger had become very loud and highly agitated, raving about how germs from other people's intestines were poisoning him. Fortunately a doctor on board had administered a sedative. The service manager had told him afterwards that the captain almost landed them at the nearest airport to get him off the plane.
Another flight attendant suddenly appeared and silently handed Craig a menu. He took it with a smile and continued.
"Look, hon, I gotta go, they're about to close the door."
He hoped saying it would make it true.
"Okay, love, see you soon! The kids can't wait to see you! I love you!"
"I love you too, Kerr! See you tonight."
He clicked the "end call" button. As if on command the flight attendant suddenly stopped her fiddling, picked up the phone mounted on the bulkhead, turned and addressed the passengers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to close the main cabin door…"
He didn't hear the rest of the announcement. As he watched a final passenger entered the aircraft, passed in front of the flight attendant and crossed over to the far aisle. Craig's chest tightened involuntarily.
"Oh, no! Please!" he pleaded silently to the heavens.
The bottom began to fall out of his stomach as the newcomer slowly moved down the aisle. Craig observed the blooming threat from under the lids of his eyes, desperate not to be caught examining the interloper. He was tall, dark haired. He carried an attaché case and a small shoulder bag. In his hand he held a cell phone.
A bunch of seats were empty forward of 3E. Couldn't he take one of those?
He passed 1L.
Damn.
Then 2E.
No, no, goddamit!
The interloper swung into 3E and dropped his phone on the seat before putting his briefcase and shoulder bag in the overhead.
Craig acted quickly. He only had a few seconds to employ his favored escape tactic. He reached into the cubby behind his head and pulled out the headphones for his in seat entertainment system. Expertly he removed the unit from its bag, not daring to look up at his neighbor's progress in settling in.
"Hello, I'm Jim Manzella."
Oh no… a talker… and an aggressive one to boot.
The aggressive talker was the bane of his traveling existence and the one class of passenger he desperately tried to avoid. The Mormon woman who had button-holed him all those years ago had become the archetype example in his mind.
Why couldn't he just tell them to shut up or go to hell? He never had been able to though that would undoubtedly have been the best way to protect himself from the worst of his temporary companions. Growing up in a small Midwestern town had imbued him with a sense of civility and politeness that he had never even tried to shake.
He looked up to see the interloper leaning over the divider between the seats, his hand extended in greeting.
"Craig Stanton," the engineer replied in the neutral, but firm tone that he used when he wanted to discourage further interaction and shook the neighbor's hand once before releasing it. Then he turned back to getting the twist tie off the cord to his headphones, hoping desperately he'd get it plugged in before the stranger continued. He didn't succeed.
"Hmm, Craig Stanton…" the other passenger replied in a puzzled tone, "haven't seen that one before."
He stopped working the twist tie and looked back up, a twinge of unease passing over him. What the hell did that mean? Craig knew better than to ask for clarification however. That was how the talkers got you. The moment you gave them an opening they would run with it all the way to doomsday. As it happened, the double take was all the opening the stranger needed.
"You fly a lot, Craig?"
"Yes."
"Me too. How many miles you do a year?"
Craig grimaced. The obligatory airline status check – the frequent flier version of "whose is bigger?" The engineer had no interest in this game, especially since he invariably won. It did not bode well for the interaction, but still, this was the easiest of conversation topics to have.
"Which do you want? Flight miles, premier qualification miles, or redemption miles?"
The stranger laughed quietly, "Well you sure know your stuff. I don't know, pick one. How about flight miles."
"I do between three hundred and four hundred thousand every year and that's just on United."
"Impressive! That's up there with Tom Stuker."
Craig laughed at that – at least the guy was a fellow traveler. All Skygods knew about Tom Stuker. He was the ultimate Skygod, United's number one passenger who flew over a million flight miles a year. He had a 747 named after him. Craig had even met him once on a flight from Melbourne to Los Angeles.
"No, Tom's still way ahead of me," deciding to be polite he risked a return question, "How about you?"
Dimly Craig was aware that the jet way had pulled back from the plane and they were now taxing to the runway.
The stranger didn't look at Craig after he had shaken his hand. He now stared blankly at the dormant entertainment screen in front of him, but continued the conversation as if he and Craig were old friends.
"Oh I do a lot less than that, but travel is part of my job so that's what I do. You a Global Services guy too?"
This was the highest status offered by United and was highly sought after. On United only Global Services members could be considered true Skygods. The rest were plebs.
"Yeh, not that it's worth much anymore."
"Well, at least you're one of the last guys they beat up and drag off the plane, right?"
Against his will Craig laughed again. The whole world knew about the infamous "Doctor Dao Incident" and United had taken a major public relations hit over their tone deaf handling of the affair.
Okay, he's a talker, but maybe it'll be okay…
Suddenly the aircraft swung wide to the left and the overhead speaker crackled to life once again.
"Flight attendants please be seated for departure."
His conversation with the man in 3E halted briefly as the engines roared to life and the force of the acceleration pushed them back in their seats. Moments later they were airborne. Underneath them they could feel the rattle and bang as the landing gear retracted.
"I love it, you know, the feeling of freedom… excitement… like you can just leave all your problems behind and start someplace new."
In Craig's experience your problems usually followed you wherever you went, but that was exactly the kind of conversation he didn't want to have. He picked up the headphones again, but not fast enough.
"You live in LA or New York?"
"I live in northern New Jersey."
"Oh, like Morristown?"
"Pretty close."
"Nice area. I been there a few times for work. New Jersey gets a bad rap, but it's actually a pretty nice place."
"It's okay, but not worth the property taxes."
"Yes, I hear they're outrageous. What do you pay?"
The question was asked politely, but was the kind of invasive and inappropriate query he hated. He answered it anyway. Calling people on their manners never produced favorable results.
"About eighteen thousand dollars a year on less than half an acre."
"Holy cow!"
"Yeh, don't move to New Jersey."
"Don't worry I won't."
A flight attendant appeared in Craig's aisle, the same one who had greeted him at the jet way.
"Good morning, Mr. Stanton, I'm Grace Daniels, your inflight service manager. I'd like to welcome you on board and thank you for being a Global Services member."
"Thanks, Grace, always a pleasure."
"Have you decided what you'd like to have for lunch?"
The menu remained unopened on the arm rest. Another reason not to talk to your neighbor.
Craig smiled apologetically.
"No, haven't looked at the menu, give me a second."
"You're not actually going to eat that junk are you?" the stranger injected from beside him, "That's a mistake. Garbage like that will kill you quicker than guilt."
The engineer ignored the question, but his mind recoiled.
Oh god, what an asshole…quicker than guilt? What the hell does that mean?
The flight attendant ignored the man in 3E as well, patiently awaiting Craig's response.
"I'll do the chicken and could I start with a gin and tonic?"
The flight attendant acknowledged the order then glided down the aisle to ask the other passengers from that side of the aircraft. Another flight attendant was working his way down the interloper's side.
The unwelcome commentary continued.
"Gin and tonic?" he began again, "Isn't that summer drink or hot weather drink? It's February, better get with the program. I'm going with a Buffalo Trace on the rocks and after this last job I think I'll make it a double."
The fasten seat belt suddenly snapped off with the familiar chime quickly followed by what was usually the last announcement before the meal service.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain from the flight deck. We've reached our cruising altitude of thirty four thousand feet. I've gone ahead and turned off the fasten seat belt sign so you're free to move about the cabin. Please make sure to wear your seat belt when seated as we may encounter unexpected turbulence during the flight. Weather in Newark is clear skies, winds light and variable out the southwest and twenty seven degrees Fahrenheit. We'll update you again before we begin our descent. Until then sit back, relax and enjoy the excellent service from our Newark based flight crew. Thanks again for choosing United."
"Excuse me."
Craig got up and almost ran back to the galley area behind them. There the flight attendants were busy preparing the drinks and meal service. He looked at the closest lavatory door, but it read "OCCUPIED."
"That one is open, sir," Grace helpfully supplied from her position in the galley where she was assisting the others prepare food trays, "You in a hurry?" She smiled, this time the smile reaching her eyes, "We haven't even served drinks yet."
The engineer blew out a breath of exasperation.
"Yeh, I'm in a hurry… to escape the guy next to me who won't shut up."
Grace poked her head around the corner and swept the cabin. Her smile was gone.
"What guy?"
"The guy in 3E," he replied with an impatient jerk of his finger in the direction of the cabin, "the last guy who got on right as you were closing the door. Guy won't shut up. He's one of those people who wants to tell you what to eat, drink and do with your life even though a) you've just met and b) their lives are invariably a screwed up mess! So I guess since they've screwed up their lives that makes them an authority on everyone else's!"
"Yeh, funny how that works isn't it?"
She poked her head around the corner once more.
"Well he's not there now. I don't remember seeing anyone there, but maybe he went to the forward lavatory?"
Craig peeked around as well. 3E was empty. He turned back to Grace with a nervous smile.
"Guess so, damn, I'm missing my break aren't I?"
"If I see you get into too much trouble, Mr. Stanton, I'll try to rescue you."
The engineer sighed with relief.
"Thanks, you guys are great. A little interference might save my life with this turkey!"
She laughed, "I'll get you that gin and tonic right away, sounds like you're going to need it."
He decided to forestall the inevitable and entered the near bathroom which had become available. A few minutes later he emerged with a growing sense of trepidation. He trudged back to his seat to find his neighbor hadn't yet returned. Two drinks lay on the seat rest between them, one clear and one amber.
There was still time. He plugged in his headphones and put them on. Flipping through the movie selection he picked the longest one he could find, Ben Hur.
The overture had just concluded when the stranger returned carrying his attaché case which he replaced in the overhead bin before sitting back down.
A few minutes of blissful silence passed where Craig thought he had escaped. He downed most of his drink, hoping that the warm buzz from the alcohol would help speed up the clock. He might even be able to put the seat down and just go to sleep.
A young male flight attendant came through and set up his tray table. He started speaking to Craig so he had to pause the movie and remove his headphones.
"Another gin and tonic, sir?"
"Yes, please."
He made to put the headphones back on, but it was too late.
"Ben Hur, huh? Great choice. A classic revenge tale wrapped up in Christian symbology and messages of acceptance and forgiveness. I always thought Judah had the most amazing determination of any character in cinema, though I guess the Count of Monte Cristo would be up there too, right?"
"Yes, I guess so."
The trespasser took a sip of his drink and barreled ahead, still staring at the blank screen in front of him, "Yes, but did you ever meet anyone in real life that had that kind of focus? I guess they're out there, but I've never met them," he sighed and continued, "I just kind of do what I do and I don't know why. What do you do Craig?"
Shit.
There it was, an open ended question from hell. The young man returned with his drink and his lunch tray, providing a few seconds of respite before he had to reply.
With a sigh designed to communicate some impatience he answered, "I'm an engineering consultant."
"Oh, what kind?"
The pissed off kind. Now would you please just fuck off!
"Energy, mostly oil and gas."
He looked puzzled and took another sip.
"What were you doing in LA then? California has systematically destroyed its energy sector with taxes and overzealous environmental regulation."
He couldn't argue with that.
"There's still a lot there, it's old, but still functional."
"Who are you working for out there?"
Craig almost spit up a piece of chicken.
"Uh, I can't discuss that…what was your name again?"
"Jim. Jim Manzella."
"I can't discuss that, Jim," Craig responded in a frosty tone he reserved for the ugliest of situations, "my clients hire me and just about every consultant on earth on a strictly confidential basis."
The stranger failed to notice the change in his seat mates' tone. He replied as if everything was going swimmingly.
"I've never been much for confidentiality. I never needed to anyway since I just keep moving."
Through the annoyance and dislike something was bothering Craig. Several comments made by this Jim Manzella had sent prickles of warning through his body. This had been largely drowned out by his self-pity at getting stuck with another jerk and his so far fruitless efforts to ditch the conversation. Now the feeling of unease resurfaced but he could not put his finger on its source.
"You go to LA a lot then?"
"No more than other places," the engineer replied cryptically, "Look Jim, would you mind if I just ate my lunch here? I don't mean to be rude but the chicken's getting cold and as you said it isn't that great to begin with."
"Sure, go ahead," the stranger replied, but continued on as if Craig's overture had been only for his benefit, "You work for Jacobson, or Bechtel? One of the big engineering firms?"
Craig ignored his seat mate and focused on his lunch, but the interloper kept on going as if the conversation was still flowing freely.
"I never worked for a big company. Most of my life I've worked alone. Now looking back I wonder if I've made a mistake."
The stranger finished his drink.
"You ever wonder why you do what you do, Craig? I mean, stop and really think about it."
Oh Jesus, this could be going the religious route.
He was addressing Craig, that was certain, but he wasn't looking at him. He could see that through the corner of his eye. In fact, for most of the conversation the interloper had just looked ahead at his blank entertainment system screen. Was that what had been bothering him underneath the surface? Like he was having a conversation with himself instead of with Craig? This was somewhat negated by the frequent inappropriate questions clearly directed at him. Still, it was weird.
The monologue continued.
"You get up every day and you execute a series of motions to get through the day… maybe it takes you closer to an objective or not… I think for most people they're doing what they do just to get to the end of the day. Then one day – they run out of days. All I know is I keep racing and racing, but never get to the end. I don't know why I'm doing what I'm doing Craig, but I hope you do."
The question flew out of his mouth before he could stop it.
"You a writer or something?"
"No," the stranger replied without turning his face.
Craig had finished what he was going to eat and the young man appeared to remove his try and table cloth.
The warning bells were now definitely alarming in Craig's mind.
Don't ask. Just don't do it. You know it's a mistake.
The question flew out.
"So, what do you do?"
The stranger turned to him.
"I kill people."
He said it calmly, his face betraying no expression.
The alarm bells instantly went to eleven on the dial in Craig's head.
A few moments passed where they locked eyes. The cabin lights suddenly dimmed and window shades were closed as most chose to sleep even on daytime transcontinental flights. Moments later they were shrouded in darkness with only their faces outlined in silhouette by the ghostly glow of Craig's video monitor.
"Really?"
"Really."
Craig swallowed hard.
"Why?"
"Like I said, I don't know."
Holy… shit.
Every story about Mormons and farting was instantly blown away. Craig could suddenly feel his heart in his chest.
The stranger turned to face the empty screen again.
"Yes, I just killed two people in Simi Valley this morning. That's the best way you know. Never kill anyone near your home, or better yet, don't even have a home. Never kill anyone you know or can be connected with you. Just kill and hop on the next flight wherever. The police never figure it out and I've been doing this for almost twenty years."
Craig's fists clenched. His mind raced. What did was he to do now? The guy was probably a liar, but what if he wasn't? And if he wasn't… why had he told him these things?
He took a breath.
"Jim, I don't think I want to hear any more about this."
The engineer averted his eyes, refusing to look again at this most unwelcome visitor.
"Don't worry, I'm not here to kill you… or at least I don't think so."
Craig's heart went ice cold at that. A few seconds passed before he decided he had to learn more.
"So, you're here to kill somebody?"
"Probably."
He licked his lips.
"How can you not know who, then?"
"Because I haven't gotten one of these yet."
The stranger produced a neat square of white paper from his breast pocket. He showed it to Craig. Two names were printed in block letters in bold, black font.
JEREMIAH KRAUS, SIMI VALLEY
ELAINE KRAUS, SIMI VALLEY
"Who are…"
The question died on Craig's lips.
"They lived at 4267 Roxbury Street, beautiful grand staircase for such a little house."
Past tense.
"Who sends them? The cards?"
"I don't know. All I know is I get them on the airplane, whichever airplane I'm on, after I do a job."
This was silly, but the creature next to him spoke with utter certainty. He put the card back in his pocket.
A question was burning Craig's mind, but he didn't dare ask it. Sweat beads began to form on his forehead.
"Anyway, I don't know why I do this, Craig and I'd like to stop."
The engineer seized on this idea, desperate for an escape hatch of any kind.
"Well why not stop then? How about a vacation! Yeh, how about that?"
"That'd be nice."
"Go to an island or Disney World or something!"
"Hawaii would be great, that's one place I never had a job."
"I mean… no one's forcing you to do this, right?"
The stranger paused before answering the question.
"Oh, Craig, I am forced by powers greater than you or any other engineer can scarcely imagine. If I stop, someone will get a card with my name on it. The only way out is death and I've been thinking a lot about that recently."
Craig quailed. This was going in the worst direction possible.
"You mean… suicide?"
He wasn't a psychologist, but he knew that a murderer thinking about suicide on an airplane in flight was a terrifying combination.
"Don't worry, I'm not doing anything today except testing a few ideas while I wait for my next job."
"Will you... do the next job?"
The stranger considered this briefly, still staring ahead.
"I don't know. Like I said, I don't know why I do this except to avoid death and I've decided that avoiding death is a rotten way to live."
A few seconds of agony passed. The maniac sighed in melancholy.
The sweat now trickled down the back of Craig's neck, wetting his shirt collar, making it wet and sticky in seconds. A new but equally fevered question emerged from his lips.
"What… what are you testing?"
The man answered in his more relaxed conversational tone.
"First whether I could get some prohibited items through security. You know you can get C4 or pretty much any explosive past them, right? As long as it isn't in anything metal or a suspicious looking container it'll go right through. I mean the TSA is a joke."
Craig resisted the urge to look upon his tormentor. His next question came out almost in slow motion and in a very low voice lest he be overheard.
"Jim… are you telling me you have… a bomb on this plane?"
The answer came instantly and without hesitation.
"I just made one in the bathroom, yes, but I'm not going to use it now, so don't worry. I just wanted to see if I could do it. Turns out it's easy. Just use your cell phone for its battery and timer, your headphone wires for the ignition, the explosive and some cosmetics bottles. And you really don't need much explosive either. The Lockerbie bomb was in a tape recorder and there's much more powerful material available these days. I'm surprised they don't have these birds falling out of the sky once a week."
Oh dear god, the attaché case…of course, nobody uses those damn things anymore!
Craig looked up involuntarily at the overhead storage compartment.
"Yes," the stranger confirmed, "but like I said don't worry."
"Why not this time? What are you waiting for?"
"Courage maybe?" he laughed again at this, but quickly contradicted himself, "No, that's not it. Maybe I am thinking about suicide, Craig, but if I am it's because this is the only way I might be able to get them… whoever they are. The only place I have contact with them is on the airplane. So, maybe, just maybe, I have more in common with Ben Hur than I thought."
"Have you… seen… them?"
The stranger looked at Craig from the corner of his eye.
"Yes."
He did not elaborate and Craig found himself fearing the answer. He suddenly felt nauseous. The last question emerged like vomit from his mouth.
"Why did you tell me your name?"
The maniac laughed, a natural carefree laugh that anyone might utter. Not someone who was claiming to have killed two people in the morning and actively planning how to blow a plane with hundreds of people on it out of the sky.
Another card appeared.
JAMES MANZELLA, PROVO
"That's not my real name, I just like it. From an old job."
"Why are you telling me all this?"
The stranger continued to address the empty screen in front of him.
"Guess I needed someone to talk to. Looks like I've done what I needed to do here, so you'll have to excuse me. Thanks for listening, Craig, I appreciate it. Just lay off the airplane food okay? That stuff will kill you."
Without another word the stranger got up and walked toward the forward galley, quickly disappearing into the shadows.
Craig blew out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. After a few seconds of hesitation where his body simply refused to acknowledge the commands of his brain, he practically erupted out of his seat. He tore at his safety belt until it unlatched as he tried to vault out of his seat. He rocketed back to the rear galley.
Grace sat patiently playing Candy Crush on her iPad on the far jump seat. He narrowly avoided crashing into a pretty blond attendant on his way over to her.
"Grace, I need your help," he began urgently.
She stood up, an expression of intense concern on her face.
"Yes, Mr. Stanton, are you all right? What can I do for you?"
He looked to his left, terrified that "Jim" might suddenly emerge again from the shadows.
"Grace, look, I know this sounds crazy, but that guy I said was bothering me? He's just spent the last half hour telling me how he killed two killed people in Simi Valley this morning…" he looked around again, biting his lip in an unconscious display of the unbearable tension he felt, lowered his voice and delivered the coup de grace that was sure to make any flight attendant go insane, "and that he… he built a bomb in the bathroom!"
She put her iPad down on the jump seat and turned back to him. She was utterly calm. The Pan Am smile was back.
"Mr. Stanton, I can see you're very upset and that's completely understandable given what you've just told me. Can I show you something that might make you feel better?"
What the hell is she talking about?
She strode over to the galley and took a clipboard off the counter. The ship's manifest was attached with dozens of pages. She flipped to the first page where the seat grid showed different passenger names. His name appeared next to 3D. The space next to 3E was empty.
"Mr. Stanton, there's no passenger in 3E."
"Grace, I'm not crazy, or maybe I am, but he said his name was Jim Manzella, can you check for that name? Maybe he switched seats or something."
She flipped through the other pages. In the back was an alphabetical list.
"No, no Jim or James Manzella."
She showed him the page. It went from Douglas Nyvin to Sarah N. Masters.
"I checked a few times after you and I spoke, but I never saw anyone," She continued in a respectful, slightly hesitant voice, "Are you… taking any medications, Mr. Stanton?"
He ignored the question. He knew he was on the verge of hysteria, but he concealed it as best he could. After all, wasn't a hallucination really the best outcome here anyway?
"Look, can we just check the overhead? He said it was in there."
"Mr. Stanton anyone could have put their carry-ons in there."
"It was a smart looking attaché case, you know the kind no one uses anymore? Please if that's not in there I'll shut up and go to sleep, promise!"
She looked doubtful, but nodded her head once.
They headed up the aisle, stopping in front of 3E. The passengers around them were all asleep. She reached up to release the bin and he closed his eyes. He heard rather than saw the bin open.
"See Mr. Stanton."
He opened his eyes again.
The bin was empty.
The fear drained from his body, the sensation quickly replaced by confusion and embarrassment.
"What the hell?"
She leaned closer to him.
"Mr. Stanton, strictly speaking I'm required to report anything like this to the Captain. If I do I guarantee you we're landing immediately and we're going to spend six to twelve hours with the finest Homeland Security people you ever met. We might get to Newark by tomorrow afternoon. Given what we've just seen though, can we agree you never said anything?"
Craig opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again with an audible click. He nodded his head once instead.
"Now, can I get you a drink?"
"No," he replied, "no thanks."
Grace retreated the way they had come. The cabin spun and lurched drunkenly in Craig's vision, but there was no turbulence.
This can't be happening.
The engineer took a few deep breaths and looked forward, half expecting the sinister figure to return. He saw nothing. Steeling himself he walked up to the forward bay. The lavatory showed vacant. He opened the door with way more force than required and confirmed that it was empty. He swung around the other side of the forward bay only to see the young male flight attendant from earlier reading a book. He looked up at Craig and asked him a question that was ignored.
The mysterious figure had simply vanished with his belongings.
Did I imagine the whole damn thing? There's just no way.
His mind flitted about going over various bits of their conversation, trying to remember what the stranger looked like and finding him hard to describe in any meaningful fashion. He desperately hoped it was a hallucination, even if it called into question his sanity. One particularly frightening thing kept haunting him from what the interloper had said.
"Hawaii would be nice, that's one place I never had a job."
He pushed this horrifying thought from his mind. He was an engineer, trained to use facts to make decisions.
No, I can't believe it, but she's right, there's no evidence the guy was ever even here!
He went back to his seat and sat down, totally flabbergasted. Both his drink and the stranger's empty glass, if it had ever been there, had been collected.
Then he saw it.
In 3E a small square of white paper lay on the seat cushion. He turned on his overhead light, leaned over and picked it up.
CRAIG STANTON, ROCKAWAY
Craig Stanton, a privileged man determined to avoid his fellow human beings, boarded a flight for Newark with only one thought, to arrive at his destination. He achieved his objective with the unwanted help of a wandering demon, a self-doubting assassin of unknown provenance. His destination – where a life of uncertainty and fear awaited him – the Twilight Zone.