Falling by T.J. Newman

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE EASTERN HORIZON GLOWED Adeep shade of sapphire, the rich blue fading as the sun dragged itself deeper beneath the world behind the plane. The view from the cockpit was like looking over the calm surface of a lake; the stars, a reflection of the city lights below.

Feeling detached from everything else in the world, Bill listened to the sound of dead air in his headphones. Nothing.

Ben peered around the cockpit with a puzzled look. “What’s that clicking?”

Bill stopped to listen. The men stared at each other in the silence.

“Oh, sorry,” Bill said, holding up his pen. He clicked it a few times. “Nervous tic. Drives my wife nuts.”

Ben chuckled and turned back to his tablet.

Bill looked at his computer, then his phone. He’d lost count of how many times he’d done that. Still no word from his family. Just then, his phone lit up with a text.

Gary Robinson iMessage.

Bill’s shoulders released with his exhale. He couldn’t care less what his neighbor wanted. He ignored it.

Checking his watch, Bill played the game.

It was a game Carrie came up with when they’d first started dating, back when she was still living in Chicago. She told him the world was sublime when they were together. But whenever he’d leave to fly a trip, she was miserable. She’d find herself thinking of how many time zones separated them, and that made it feel like Bill was even farther away. So she made up this game where she would think of where he was or what he was doing as opposed to just what time it was there. The clock would say it was eight p.m., but instead she would think, Dinnertime. He’s probably somewhere over the Rockies. It’s a full moon tonight, and I bet the snow on the mountains is absolutely glowing. And somehow, Bill wouldn’t feel as far away.

Bill thought it was silly. He was as firmly left-brained as she was right, so the soft reimagining of the way things were just didn’t compute. Loneliness can bend a man in unexpected ways, though, and late one night, alone in Honolulu, Bill couldn’t sleep. Carrie was four hours away. It was seven in the morning her time. He envisioned her stretching in bed, wearing that old, oversized IWU baseball T-shirt she slept in. He knew she would get up and make coffee right away, NPR playing in the background. She would choose the pink mug with the words “Ooh la la!” written in cursive under the Eiffel Tower. It was her favorite. Just cream, no sugar.

Rolling over, he’d tucked a pillow under his arm and drifted off to sleep.

He’d played the game ever since.

He looked at his watch. Five thirty-seven in LA. At this time, Carrie would be…

It was like staring at a blank piece of paper. He couldn’t fathom what Carrie was doing and every attempt to imagine it led him back to the image of her screaming in agony as a man tortured her in their own home. He closed his eyes, searching in the dark for a world where this didn’t happen. A world where he turned down the trip, where he chose to be a father and a husband over a pilot. A world where his family was simply going on with their day.

A lump formed in his throat as he remembered.

Five thirty-seven in Los Angeles. They should have been at Scott’s baseball game.

His phone glowed. Pat Burkett iMessage. Bill frowned. Another neighbor? Why were—

He rushed to open the messages.

Hey buddy are u flying? Were u home? Let me know if I can help

Hi Bill, Pat here. I saw you drive off this morning, I think you’re flying? Do you know where Carrie and the kids are? Are they ok? Oh my god this is just insane. Please check in. Steve and I are here for anything you guys need. Please let us know how we can help.

Help with what? What were they talking about? Hot panic seared through his veins. His thumbs hovered over the tiny keyboard, the cursor blinking in wait. He had to be careful.

Hey Gary. I’m flying. What’s up?

Gary would give him facts. Pat would give him gossip. Three dots on the other side of Gary’s text popped up. That was fast.

Wow. Ok. This is hard man. Have u heard about ur house?

Bill couldn’t feel his fingers as he asked the neighbor what he meant by that.

It exploded. They’re saying gas leak. Where are Carrie and the kids?

Bill stared at the message so long without moving that his phone went dark. It slipped out of his fingers, falling into his lap. He didn’t move.

Carrie. Scott. Elise. His whole world. Gone. He envisioned their house from the inside. The kitchen table, where they read the paper while Scott crunched Rice Krispies. The nursery, where he rocked Elise back to sleep. The living room, where they decorated the Christmas tree. Their bedroom, where Carrie’s body tucked into his at night. He tried to place that world on fire, blown to bits. He tried to fade his family out, to make them disappear. His mind wouldn’t let him. There was just no way. It couldn’t be.

Carrie, wearing the suicide vest. Gagged. Holding Elise. Next to Scott.

A wave of nausea washed over Bill as he realized that was the final image he would ever see of his family. A lifetime of love and joy, and he knew he would fixate on that final shot for the rest of his life. This was his fault. Bill had failed as a husband, as a father, as a protector.

He was going to be sick. Bill was grasping for the trash bag when a picture of his wife popped up on his computer with the words “Accept FaceTime call from Carrie Cell.” Bill stared in disbelief before clicking on the green button.

His eyes darted back and forth across the screen, willing the call to connect. Please let them be alive. Please, God. Show me my family. His face slid out of the way as the call went through. In the center of the screen appeared his family. All three. Alive. He pinched his leg as hard as he could to keep from weeping.

Carrie and Scott were still bound, but no longer gagged. Sam was by their side, holding the detonator. Both he and Carrie were still covered in explosives. Carrie was holding Elise, so he couldn’t make out the condition of her arm from the boiling water, but she appeared to be all right.

They were alive. Bill felt dazed with relief. He forced himself to focus.

Where were they? It was incredibly dark; besides a soft light off-screen to their left, the glow from the phone reflecting off their faces was the only light in the space. It was also small. They sat close together and by their posture, Bill thought they might be on the floor, not in chairs.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” came Sam’s voice through the earbud in Bill’s left ear. The voice sounded closer than it was, the way a voice was amplified when it was in an enclosed space like a car. “You shouldn’t have done that, Bill.”

Bill furiously typed out a response. Done what? Did you get the video? I did exactly what you asked.

Sam received the email with a chuckle. “Oh, no. I got the video. No,” he said. “I said you weren’t allowed to tell the flight attendants.”

Bill’s stomach dropped, but he tried to keep a poker face while deciphering that statement. How did he know he’d told the crew? Did that mean he knew about Jo’s nephew and the FBI? Was that why they left the house? Why he blew it up?

Sam’s voice was confident. “I knew something was off after you sent the video. Something just didn’t feel right. And sure enough…”

Sam swiped around on his own phone for a moment before holding it up to the camera. Bill squinted to see what was on the screen. It appeared to be a picture of a passenger in a Coastal Airways first-class seat, the cream-colored leather and pink mood lighting a contrast to the panicky yellow cup of the oxygen mask covering his face.

Bill closed his eyes, piecing it together. They released the masks with the MRTs. Brilliant. But none of them, clearly, took into account the passengers’ use of the internet.

With a sinking feeling it dawned on him that, actually, they might have—but they couldn’t cut the internet because Bill needed to talk to his family. Yet one more way that he was destroying anyone and everything around him.

“I assumed you’d be that arrogant, though,” Sam said. “That’s why the family and I proactively took a little road trip.”

Road trip.

Okay, so they were in a vehicle. Bill tried to remember if he had seen a cable van parked outside their house when he left for the airport that morning, but he had no recollection. Or maybe they were in Carrie’s car, the massive SUV they bought last year after finding out they had a baby on the way. The back two rows folded down flat—they could easily be in the back of that.

“I mean,” Sam continued, “I don’t know who else knows now besides your flight attendants. But whoever you sent to your house, I hope you didn’t like them too much. You know what? Here—hold on.”

The screen jiggled as he handed Carrie her phone to hold, his free hand punching buttons on his own. Carrie looked down at his screen, watching whatever he was looking up. A voice started speaking, and Carrie gasped.

“…I’m here in front of the home, which, as you can see, has been completely destroyed in the explosion. Authorities are saying the cause was a gas leak and they have not told us if anyone was inside at the time of the blast. Luckily, only one home seems to have been…”

Sam held the video up for him to see. Bill fought the urge to cover his mouth. The reporter stood on their street, yellow caution tape stretched out behind her. Beyond it was their home. What was left of it.

Bill stared at the wreckage and grew cold with a newfound realization.

There was no chance this man was bluffing. He knew exactly what he was doing, and there was no doubt in Bill’s mind that he would kill his family if Bill did not comply.

Carrie began to cry. Not loudly, but not quietly either.

“Really?” Sam said to her. “You’ve been so strong. Surprisingly strong. You’re going to fall apart now because of a house and maybe a few people?” He shook his head. “How are you going to live with yourself after a whole plane full of people die so you and your kids can live?”

Tears rolled down Carrie’s face as she looked up at the ceiling.

Sam laughed. “That’s assuming Bill chooses you guys over the plane.” He shrugged. “Maybe I shouldn’t assume. Let’s check in. Have you made your choice, captain?”

Bill typed angrily, watching the man receive and read the email with an eye roll.

“I will not crash this plane, you will not kill my family, blah, blah, blah,” Sam said. “What is it with American men? Why do you guys always see yourselves as the hero? Why do you always want to do things the hard way?” He sighed. “Fine. Have it your way.”

Sam started typing on his phone, the detonator hugged between his fingers and the device. Carrie looked up at Bill. She looked as terrified as he felt.

“Bill,” he said, still working on his phone. “I told you that you would make a choice. I told you that there were things in place on board that would ensure it. I also told you that you weren’t allowed to tell anyone. Now, I assumed that threat would be enough—but I also know you’re a privileged, arrogant prick who thinks he can get away with whatever he wants. Turns out I was right. So, I’ll level with you. I can’t kill your family right now. I need them. I’ll leave that final choice up to you. But you did break the rules, and guess what? Actions have consequences. You sent authorities to your house, so I blew it up. You told your flight attendants”—he looked up from his phone, his fingers paused, and stared into the camera—“well, we’ll get to that.”

Goosebumps spread up Bill’s arms and wrapped around the back of his neck with an icy prickle.

Sam resumed his typing. Seemingly finished, he laid the phone down with a smug smile. “Your refusal to cooperate has forced my hand. It’s time for Plan B.”

Bill could feel his heartbeat in his throat. He strained to listen to the sounds coming from the cabin, waiting for muffled screams. An explosion. Panic and chaos. Something. Anything.

But all he heard was the hum of the engines.

And then, there it was.

So loud he almost jumped.

The unmistakable cock of a single-action hammer.

Bill turned slowly toward his copilot.

“Sorry, boss,” Ben said, extending the barrel of the gun.