XIII




October 14, 1987

'......Rye............Mrs. Rye...........'

The voice was distant, small and soft. It was almost like a whisper to those who could hear it, to those who listened through the swaying of the palm trees. If one put their ear down hard enough, one would swear that the wind really was saying something as it blew, as the dust again began to pick up around the barren landscape.

'....Mrs. Rye...' The voice came again, distant and fuzzy. 'Time to wake up, Mrs. Rye....Come on now....'

Meg's eyes slowly opened. He stood over her, his form completely fuzzy, as the wind blew into his face. He was whispering to her, his eyes literally glowing. Yet she did not know who he was.

'Who are you?'
'Come on, Meg.' The voice of the figure almost sounded amused. 'You know its me. You have to get up now! You have to hurry up! Its time for you to wake up.....'
'Wake up....?'
'Mrs. Rye?'

Meg's eyes jolted open, and she nearly gave a start. Here eyes were met by blaring whiteness, and she had to squint to help herself refocus.

'Ah, there you are.' His face slowly materialized in front of her. 'Its good to see you're awake.'

Meg looked around as her eyes focused. The voice that was speaking to her, it was not that of the whispers she had heard just seconds before; they were too deep. As soon as he eyes managed to clarify the IV bag next to her, the bandages on her arms and legs, and the oxygen mask over her face, however, Meg began to understand where she was.

'Am I...'
'Just a little burnt.' The doctor who stood over her took off his gloves. 'A few second degree burns on your body. A nice-sized bump, but I'll check your eye dilation right now if you're up to it.'
'Where the hell am I?'
'You're at Edwards Army Hospital,' the doctor chuckled. 'And, if I may say so, you are very much in demand at the moment. The papers are crawling outside the door, wishing to find out how you got yourself out of direct harm's way. But we've managed to hold them off so far.'
'I...' Meg looked at the doctor. 'What do you mean, 'got myself out of harm's way'? I was right in front of that one plane when it crashed.'
'Excuse me?'
'When the one plane crashed in front of me.' Meg gave a huff; it was obvious to her that the man had gotten the story wrong. 'Who told you I jumped out of the way?'
'...The MPs, Mrs. Rye.' The doctor looked amused. 'The MPs found you about twenty yards away from the plane. Surely you remember running out of the way?'
'No, that's not how it...'

Meg stopped. She was not a fool. She knew something was very wrong with the story, at least the story the doctor was relaying to her. She simply shook her head.

"No….those guys got it wrong." She let annoyance slip into her voice. "I was right in front of that damn plane. I'm not having a memory lapse. I know where I was. I didn't run, I didn't do anything."
"Then how is it the MPs found you away from the wreckage?"

Is this some type of damn challenge?! Meg felt herself becoming very indignant. Do the MPs know how to measure distance right?! Who the hell is making this story up?!

"I don't know how that's possible!" she finally snapped. "All I know is, I was right in front of the goddamn plane! It was damn hot, and I couldn't move! And I passed out, and just about died back there. I even had a goddamn hallucination about……."

She stopped again.

Hallucination. My hallucination….Someone…..grabbed me. And then I flew….

She looked down on her hand, then closed her eyes, her mind backtracking through the events. Meg had called George up; that much she was sure of. Then she got pissed at George, and hung up. Then came the fire, and the plane, and she was petrified (though she wouldn't admit this out loud). Then came the hand, but that was after she had started cursing out…..

…..No.

She remembered. There had been a wind, a powerful wind. Then there was the hand on her wrist. Then the sensation of movement. Then she had blacked out.

It……can't be right. Her mind exploded with millions of possible explanations. It can't be right…. Should have died…….but who…..

Yet no matter how many explanations she mustered - from accepting the doctor's story to the plane simply skidding over her to the plane suddenly swerving at the last minute and missing her completely - one kept coming into the forefront of her mind, even when she tried to push it away. It was impossible. It was unthinkable. It was unbelievable.

It was him.

"Mrs. Rye?"

Startled from her revelation, Meg looked back at the doctor, her eyes widening.

"Huh?"
"Is….something wrong, Mrs. Rye?"
"….I….."

Slowly, surely, Meg began to understand. She shook her head.

"…No." She looked away at the doctor towards the windows of the room. "I'm fine. I guess…..I don't recall everything that happened."
"Ah!" The doctor smiled, then gently pat Meg on the back. "It happens. Memory loss triggered by an adrenaline rush. Hell, if I had several tons of fiery steel coming right at me, I know I would probably panic and run just like you did, and then I'd block it out of my mind."
"Yeah….." Meg didn't look back at him. "I guess so."
"…Well!" At this, the doctor stood up. "In that case, I'll be getting on now. You'll probably be able to get out in the morning, but I would suggest that you leave by the back door when you do."
"Eh?" Meg half-turned towards the doctor. "What do you mean?"
"Why," The doctor chuckled. "What else did you think would happen if you miraculously managed to save yourself from that kind of accident? Out of the four people involved, you were the only one to escape serious injury. The pilot in the plane coming towards you died, and the other two are in critical condition."


Meg's mouth dropped open at this. On top of her shitty day, it was about to get shittier. Not only did she have no real story, she was now the object of interest for hundreds of nosy, foolish, novice reporters. They were no doubt outside, as Meg knew full well the workings of the reporter's mind. They would inquire of her, and they would certainly inquire about the man who had died right in front of her.

"Well!" Meg heard the doctor open the door. "I must be going. I have some check-ups to do. If you need anything, the nurses' station is down there; just press the green button on the side of your bed."

With that, the doctor closed the door, leaving Meg alone. And alone, Meg truly began to think.

At first, it was the death of that pilot - that unknown pilot whose plane had been the catalyst of what had happened - that briefly put the explanation of her being spared death back into the depths of her mind. It was a sobering fact for Meg that the man had died. Perhaps, however, it was more surprising that she was actually acknowledging and thinking of the pilot. It was, after all, the first time in many years that Meg had felt pity for someone who had died. She never really mourned anyone much since she moved out of Rome; she had never seen the reason to, specifically not in her profession. A reporter could not be objective if they let their sappier emotions get in the way of their work; they had to be tough, pushy, everything that others hated in order to get the story.

This time, however, she felt different. Now, perhaps, it was because she was not the one getting the story, but rather she was the story, was a part of the story. She was upset, and she hung her head down. She, at that moment, did not see the pilot as a story to get the details on; she did not see him as an idiot who deserved his fate for screwing himself over. For the first time in many years, she did not just se the story, she saw the man, the pilot who had been flying the Cessna, a man whose family not only lost a loved one, but would perhaps be bombarded by questions about the man's life or be pestered by reporters during his funeral service as to what kind of flowers they were using on his coffin. Perhaps he had a wife, and kids, who would have to watch as their lives were put up for everyone who wished to see. And of course there would be the investigations, and the tell-alls about the pilot from his best friends, and the rumors that he may have been drunk or worse, and all of the things that came with the sudden celebrity of being a tragic story.

And for the first time, Meg hated herself for having ever promoted such a medium. For knowing she was a part of the destruction that had destroyed lives, for being one of the important ones who got the info, yet in the process was despised by the veterans in line and loathed by those who she stepped on. She had never before cared of what others thought of her. Now that she knew how she was truly viewed, all she wanted to do was throw herself back in front of that plane and laugh as the flames burned her into ashes.

And as the explanation of her being saved started to creep back into her mind, her thoughts began to unleash her anger once more on her savior.

You fucking son of a bitch. She had to bite her lip so that she wouldn't cry. You saved me? You saved me. The enemy. You saved the one that was there to hurt people. What the hell possessed you? Why didn't you save that other guy? She rubbed her eyes. He had to have had a family, you cocksucking asshole. You had a family, didn't you?! You know what I did to people like him! Why me?!?

………….i tried…………

The voice silently blew into her ears like a soft breeze. Meg almost didn't notice it, but when she realized what it was, her head came up.

…..i was too late………forgive me meg……

"Scott Garnet."

*BAM!*

Suddenly, there was a gust of wind inside of the room, and the windows slammed open with a definitive bang. Meg gave a screech of surprise, and she nearly jumped from her bed.

"Mrs. Rye!"

The windows were suddenly shut. There were three nurses at her side, their faces lined with worry.

"Mrs. Rye." One of them, the youngest, looked down at her. "Are you all right?"
"Y…yes." The word barely escaped Meg's lips. "I'm fine….."
"How did this window get open….?" One of the other nurses shook her head. "Rosie. Dammit, I told her not to forget to latch them. The wind can get in easily that way, you know, and it can swing these things open!"

Meg was in the middle of nodding, of pretending to agree, when her eyes caught onto something on the other side of the room. It was a small table, a small night table, and on it were Meg's belongings. Her shirt, her pants, her purse, even her tape recorder, though slightly burnt, were all there, piled neatly on top of it. Meg managed to identify what everything was.

Everything except for the one thing that had really protected her.

"...Nurse!" The nurse felt a tug on her sleeve. "I'm sorry, but…..where's my jacket?"
"Hmm?"
"Over there." Meg pointed. "I had a jacket. It was a leather jacket, and it had…a blue insignia on it."

The nurse looked over to her cohorts, then back at the pile, then back at Meg. Her face was confused.

"Your…..jacket?"
"Yes." Meg looked at the three. "You…..you got it out, didn't you?"

A moment passed between the four in the room. As the silence wore on, Meg's thoughts began to ponder, then to think, then to realize. By the time someone spoke, she knew what was to be said.

"…..Mrs. Rye…." The nurse looked again at the others. "You didn't have a jacket."
"…….O….ok……"

Meg stared into space, towards the table, where her jacket was supposed to be, yet wasn't. Soon, the nurses nodded to each other, and silently left the room.

……You have it, don't you….. A small chuckle came into her throat. You have it….

She began to laugh, and it rang inside the room. She covered her eyes as she laughed, shaking her head. She knew there was no need to bemoan her loss; the jacket was back with whom it belonged to. Besides, she had no need for it now; she had learned her lesson, and it would have been stupid to think that she could have kept such an important thing from a dead man.

I hope we meet again….. She did not look over at the window; if she had, she would have seen a small, yet distinct trail of dust in the desert below. You son of a bitch, I'll catch you somehow…..