Wings of Fate: The Lost Ones

“Attention all passengers, please look to the front of the aircraft. Linda will point out the emergency exits located on either side of the plane.”

Raven felt inattentive whenever she traveled in an airplane. After several assignments she stopped listening to the announcements. In fact, after the third such flight, she watched the stewardess go through the instructional speech while her mind wandered to the meeting ahead. While the stewardess pointed out emergency exits and the proper use of the overhead breathing device, Raven strategized about the upcoming sale.

Now, not only was she tuning out the stewardess, Raven wasn’t watching.

“In case of emergency, the seat you are sitting on can be flipped upside down and used as a flotation device…”

This part of the instruction bothered her. What if the plane crashed into a mountain? Or a field? The stewardess suggested using the seat as a flotation device but never mentioned how to rip the seat out of the floorboard. It was a small thing to annoy the hell out of her. As the stewardess of the day, Linda, went through her memorized schpeal, Raven rolled her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she struggled to rein in her temper. Raven thought for a moment she didn’t know why she was so irritated, but then realized that was wrong. She was flying to Puerto Rico when she should be buried far beneath the sheets of her bed, praying for oblivion.

It had been seven days since Tom left.

I am trying not to think of Tom, Raven reminded herself as she rummaged through her purse, sighing when the smooth surface of her Blackberry appeared beneath the tips of her fingers. Setting her purse on the floor between her feet, she flipped the phone open and pulled up Margaret’s home number.

After listening for the answering machines’ beep, Raven stared at the back of the chair before her and left a quick message. Margaret had been ‘mom’ for more years of Raven’s life than not. Having spent almost a year in the squalid apartments a few blocks away from Bella Vida, Raven’s case-worker, Christopher, appeared like an angel one afternoon with the prospect of an adoptive family.

Christopher urged her to collect her belongings and join him in the corridor after he talked to her foster parents. He left her staring wide-eyed after him, not with any real sense of excitement or desperation, and not with any real sadness for the loss of the foster home. Raven stood motionless, baffled by the concept of her belongings.

The day of her parents’ accident, Raven had not been allowed to bring anything other than what she had with her. The policemen did not take her home, offer her photos from the mantel, or bring her favorite stuffed bear, Blinkie, who probably still sat on her bed waiting for her to come home. Her belongings consisted of a pair of tennis shoes she outgrew, and the pair of blue jeans and red sweater she wore to camp.

Her case-worker concluded his conversation with the foster parents and then a short drive north led them to a small two-bedroom, brick home. The owners were Margaret and Gerald, both of whom were overwhelming in their excitement to see the whey-faced, round-eyed child.

In their thirties at the time, Margaret’s laughing eyes were the first thing to capture Raven’s interest. Gerald was a quiet man, most likely out of necessity, for his wife monopolized most conversations. A few months after her sixteenth birthday, he fell over with a heart attack.

Losing a second father was a huge blow -- especially losing him in a way just as abrupt as her birth father’s death was. It seemed there was never any time to tell people goodbye. One minute they were there and the next -- gone.

“Passengers we will be moving to our position on the tarmac in just a few minutes, please take this time to secure your belongings. Please remember, when the seatbelt indicator-light turns on, all passengers are required to fasten their seatbelts.”

Sighing, Raven pulled her laptop out of the bag next to her feet. Pulling down the tray snapped into her predecessor’s chair, she set the laptop down on it. Only a few minutes were left before take-off and she would have to power back down but wanted first to send a quick email to Mr. Hinkley with a game plan outline. Pink pearlescent fingernails tapped out a steady beat on the keys as she typed in her login name and password.

“Welcome, Raven.” A cheerful feminine voice greeted her. Raven called her laptop with the cheerful feminine voice, Lilly. Lilly always sounded so damn happy. Tom had drawled out that she really should not name her computer. Her response had been to glance sardonically at his crotch and then return his stare, causing him to laugh, shrug and walk away. That had not stopped him from teasing, of course. Shoving the thought away, she quickly logged onto the Internet, typed in the email web page, and then began a short email.

“I used to know a Mr. Hinkley -- was a cat. Old, old cat,” Wheezed a breathless voice.

Raven glanced side-ways at the man in the window seat next to her. He could not have weighed less than three hundred pounds and, even sitting down, his dark head skimmed the overhead compartments. Beneath the folds of his neck he wore a black, short-sleeved button-down shirt left loose over a pair of frayed blue jeans. His arm, sporting a brown leather wrist watch, more than covered the armrest between them. She responded to his comment with a smile.

“My cat, Mr. Hinkley, passed away some years ago from cancer, you know, so I don’t ever get the chance to talk to him anymore. But we used to chat all the time, he and I.”

“Why not anymore?” she asked, though she was indifferent to the subject, it was just another one of those conversations one indulged in with strangers you were never going to see again. She logged off the computer, snapped it shut and leaned down to put it back in its case at her feet.

The man’s voice drifted over her shoulder in a hesitant manner. “What do you mean? I said he passed.”

Because she was still facing away from him she knew her voice would sound muffled and so raised her voice. “Don’t you think your cat would still hear the words you speak from your heart?”

The passenger to her right protested. “You aren’t going to start talking about spirits and reincarnation and heaven are you? That kind of talk makes me uncomfortable.”

Straightening, Raven peered at the brown-eyed, brown-haired boy slouched next to her; a boy who could be no older than ten or eleven though his pinched expression could be adding years to his appearance. Her left eyebrow rose of its own accord as she asked, “You don’t believe in spirits and reincarnation and heaven?”

“Of course not,” he mumbled with a quick glance at the folded hands in his lap, “my mom died last summer and I never see or hear her, or feel like she is watching me from heaven like my grandma said she would. It’s all just superstitious talk by a bunch of people afraid of death.” He eyed Raven angrily before turning away.

Raven breathed in a heady breath of memories. She remembered having the same opinion when her parents died -- full of anger and disbelief in some kind of golden hereafter. The police and therapists and foster families had all, to a man, tried to comfort her with the same trite words, the same meaningless expressions. And even though he was a few years older than she had been, it was surprising to hear the words come out of his mouth. She gazed at him for a moment before turning back to the window passenger with raised eyebrows.

The man leaned as close to her as his bulk would allow and whispered, “I believe I may try to write that letter when I get home, maybe you’re right about my cat hearing my words and, if not,” he suggested with a dismissive shrug, “at least I will feel better having written it. I miss my Mr. Hinkley.”

Raven patted his hand, leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Half an hour or so passed in relative quiet as the plane took off from the landing strip and they climbed to a higher altitude. Occasionally the captain’s voice came over the intercom as he gave brief updates as to their progress.

“Would you like something to drink ma’am?” a quiet voice asked, intruding into Raven’s peace. Linda, the stewardess, leaned precariously into their row with a smile and repeated the question. Raven nodded and asked for a Cape Cod and coffee. The stewardess’ red lipstick smile never faltered as she began her preparations for the drink. Linda’s hands moved with competence over the cart -- dropping cubes of ice into a small plastic cup before reaching for the liquid ingredients.

The young boy looked askance. “What’s a Cape Cod?”

“An alcoholic beverage with vodka and cranberry.” She answered with a polite, informative smile.

His eyes scowled at her. “You do realize it is only like 9:30 in the morning right?” the stewardess handed over the drinks and as Raven reached for them she smiled at the boy.

“Yes, but I must have an alcoholic drink if I am to put off my true appetite.”

“What is your true appetite?” he asked, his pale face still screwed into a scowl.

“Annoying little boys.” She replied offhandedly, taking a sip of her drink. She sighed at the tart flavor of cranberries rolling over her tongue.

The boy rolled his eyes at her but was silent, at least. When he bit down on a pretzel stick, Raven realized she wasn’t offered a snack. The stewardess was making her way into the back of the plane leaving Raven to acknowledge all prospect of a snack to be gone for at least another ten minutes.

The man beside her fell asleep quickly and, instead of snoring, growled every now and again. The boy stayed awake but silent.

Raven was making a list of the possible retirement locations to look into while in Puerto Rico when the boy’s blue jean pants scratched together so frequently it became a distraction. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he crossed and uncrossed his legs repeatedly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Raven asked without looking up. The movement stopped. “Do you need to pee or something?” she glanced at his face, a burning shade of red.

His eyes fumed. “No, I don’t need to -- to do that.” He crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling, across the aisle to the other passengers, to the floor -- everywhere but at her.

Setting her pencil down, she turned to him, considering. “Do you have someone on the plane here with you?” she asked, looking around at the nearby passengers, searching for someone who might be looking at him but there was no one paying any attention to the brown-haired boy. “Have you ever been on a plane before?”

He frowned again. “No and no. I’ve never been on a plane before. I am -- my dad thought it would be best for me to stay awhile with my aunt because of -- well, just because.”

“Are you scared?” she asked, figuring if she were he, she would definitely be afraid, if for no other reason than the emotional upheaval of losing his mom and then being sent away from his dad. Obviously his dad must’ve not been dealing well with his loss either if he couldn’t even handle his own kid at the same time.

“What’s there to be scared of?” he straightened in his seat but his bottom lip quivered for half a second. She began to feel sorry for him. It was a complicated notion to feel bad for a kid when they terrified her so much. Kids should be easier to talk to, she thought, forcing a smile.

“Nothing at all to be afraid of man -- just thought I’d ask. Are you sure you don’t need to use the restroom?” She waited for a response but when he continued to glare at his lap she continued. “Well, if you decide you do need to, just get up and walk straight to the rear of the plane, that’s where the bathrooms are.” She turned back to her notepad and scribbled random words as she waited to see if he would make a move. After a few moments he stole out of the aisle and walked to the rear of the plane.

When she thought about it later, that particular moment would be the moment she felt her first misgivings. Not because she had any inkling something would or could be wrong with the plane -- but because the boy was out of her sight and, inexplicably, she felt responsible for him; because he was alone. It also seemed like the catalyst for he had not been gone but a moment or two when the plane abruptly lurched sideways.

High-pitched screaming exploded into the near silent airplane -- rising from the rear of the plane -- rising and rising until she couldn’t hear her own breath. The man beside her jerked upright and gripped the seat in front of him. Her notepad and pencil flew off the tray, slamming against the window before falling to the floor just as the emergency respirator masks fell from the ceiling.

Raven clutched the seat ahead of her, trying to steady herself amid the constant jerking and stomach dropping pitches into which the plane unexpectedly dove. Directionless adrenaline drenched every cell in her body -- demanding she run from danger.

There was nowhere to run.

Later, she would admit that for a moment she forgot about the boy for she could think nothing more than oh God, oh God, oh God. The howling engine was a perfect match to the noise inside the cabin as passengers shrieked in fear when the plane didn’t right itself, continuing instead in a downward motion.

“Oh dear God, protect us in this time of need, give us our daily bread and forgive us our sins...” Raven gaped at the big man beside her, the words he spoke a mixture of several different prayers and making no sense. When his eyes met hers she saw paralyzed fear and knew it must be reflected in her own eyes. He stared past her, gaping at the empty seat. The boy!

Raven stood and stumbled out of their row, hanging onto the seats as she tried to make her way to the back of the plane. She passed screaming passengers, wrestling their masks on while holding on to each other, as the force of the plane pushed her toward the bathrooms at a frightening speed. She kept moving, intent on the boy in the bathroom who just lost his mom and had never been on an airplane before.

Two rows away from the bathrooms the stewardess, Linda, grabbed her arm and squeezed it painfully. She yelled at Raven to return to her seat. Didn’t the stewardess realize it wouldn’t matter whether she was seated or standing? They were all going to die. She tried to yank her arm away from the overly helpful stewardess, tried to explain about the boy in the bathroom but the woman just kept yelling and pointing, trying to grab Raven’s arm. Shoving the stewardess away from her, Raven watched the woman fall and then she jumped forward to the bathroom door on the left, holding onto a crevice in the wall as she pounded her fist against the door. The door flew open, revealing a gray metal toilet and matching sink -- but no little boy.

She turned to the door on her right, gritting her teeth against the sound of the engines. Jumping across the aisle while trying to grab the bathroom door was difficult and she failed on the first try. Still, the engines’ screaming was so loud Raven was frightened of nothing else but that sound. She wondered how much longer it would be before they hit the ground and exploded.

When the door finally opened, the boy had one hand on the door and the other clenched to the toilet seat; he stared at her with wide eyes dark against his bloodless face. Pushing into the bathroom, Raven slammed the door and locked it. Turning, she pressed herself into the floor, anchoring her body in place with her feet against the wall on either side of the toilet, and without a word motioned for him to come to her. He peered at her with crazed fear and she had to wiggle her fingers again.

Releasing the toilet, the kid fell onto her with one elbow in her ribs while the other slammed into her eye. Ignoring the pain, she wrapped her arms around him, pulled him between her legs, and tucked his head beneath her chin. In the bathroom the shrieking of the engines was deafening, always sounding as though near its crescendo with the end quickly following.

Over the sound she could just barely hear the boy crying and yelling, “I do believe in God, I do believe in God, I do…”

Raven opened her eyes and stared hard into the unending darkness around her where the only evidence of existence was the crushing weight against her chest. Breathing was difficult and her attempts to suck in deep gulps of the stagnant air remained unsuccessful. As the heavy weight on her chest shifted, she tried to remember where she was. The silence in the room was interrupted by a muffled voice. Moments passed as Raven processed the question, but when her mind finally cleared, the words echoed in her head.

“Are we dead?”

His question paralyzed her, giving no room for additional thought. She had no memory of their situation beyond waiting for whatever end would follow the terrifying wails of the engines. She didn’t remember crashing into the grounds’ forbidding surface. She couldn’t recall shuddering from the bone-jarring impact or the subsequent life-ending explosion.

Raven attributed her lack of memory to fear. Perhaps she blocked out the episode because handling the emotional implications would be impossible. It was also possible they passed out before the plane crashed. Rubbing a hand across the silky strands of his head she whispered, “No, I don’t think we’re dead. I can’t breathe, though, can you move?”

He did. Movement was difficult, as they were both lying on their backs and with gravity forcing his body onto hers, the boy could only slide to the side to lie beside her.

Raven licked her lips, tasted the metallic zest of blood and, with an exhausted sigh, raked her hair out of her face. Her breath echoed in her head -- sounding unnaturally loud as though under water. In the resounding silence of the small room she focused inward, taking stock of her body -- noting every bruised inch. Must have hit my head, she thought, trying to slow her heartbeat so the pounding would cease.

She thought about the boy and wondered if he was hurt. “What’s your name kid?”

He was silent, as though considering but then answered, “Austin Barrett.”

Her smile went unseen in the dark. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Austin Barrett, I’m Raven.”