Ten minutes later I’m at the airport. I still don’t see Lena; but if she came here to meet me, she’s probably at the gate. The rest of the airport is too big and too busy for us to connect. Our flight leaves in just a few hours. I have no luggage, since pretty much everything I brought with me was stolen in Kerala, so I head straight for Security.
I don’t like not being with Lena. It begins to remind me of the dreams I used to have as a kid, the ones where a friend and I were being chased by monsters; and then my friend would disappear, leaving me all alone. That feeling is worse than being chased. I want my friend back. More than that, I want to know that she’s okay.
As I creep closer to the Security desk, the feeling of anxiety only increases. I shift from one foot to the other, staring past the line to see what’s taking so long. A family with several strollers is holding everyone up. I sigh and grind my teeth, so obviously impatient that the man in front of me turns and gives me a withering look, his white caterpillar eyebrows high on his forehead. Finally I reach a guard. Ahead of me, conveyer belts are packed with gray plastic tubs of laptops, shoes, and coats. Everywhere I look for Lena.
“Passport and ticket,” he demands in a put-upon tone. I offer him my passport, wincing slightly as he opens it up and runs one meaty thumb over the hole where Anand stabbed it. I hold my breath; I’m not sure whether a torn (or stabbed) passport is illegal.
“Left it on the cutting board,” I say lamely. He doesn’t smile. Instead he examines my ticket, turning it over a couple of times. His brow is furrowed in concentration; and behind me, several travelers clear their throats. My stomach drops. If the tickets Dana issued us are flawed—or worse, counterfeit—I could be arrested. I don’t know why it’s taken this long for it to occur to me; but now that it has, it seems obvious. Charlie could easily be working with Dana. Everything about this screams “Danger,” but it’s too late to stop it—it’s already been set in motion. This guy already has my passport and is already staring hard at my ticket.
He turns it over again, squinting. And then he stamps it. Every part of my body shudders with relief, from my toes to my ears, which are flaming from nervousness. The guard begins to hand me back my passport and ticket; but when I move to take them, his grip tightens.
“Wait,” he says. Silence. Time passes, but I don’t feel it. He retracts my passport and flips it open again. Then he takes his walkie-talkie and mutters something quickly in Thai. “Wait here,” he tells me again. Nothing in his face betrays what he’s thinking. He holds on to my passport.
Now I’m certain beyond a doubt that something is wrong. But it’s not my ticket he was mulling over, so what could it be? Was it really the hole in the passport that got his attention? A second later, two armed guards approach the line. Each takes one of my arms. Their grip is firm—even rough.
“What is this?” My voice is loud, terrified. My first instinct is to refuse to go with them, but they leave me no choice. Both men are large and muscular, and when they hustle me forward, I struggle to keep my balance. “Tell me what’s going on,” I demand, but they ignore me, pulling me past the conveyer belts into a small room lined on all sides with windows. Around us, people are staring. Given how crude they’re being, I may as well be a convict. I close my eyes, fighting tears, and allow them to shove me into a chair. They bolt the door behind them. I can’t hear anything, see anything. My panic is overwhelming. I try hard not to curl up in my chair and sleep. It’s the second best escape.
It takes a minute for my senses to right themselves.
When they do, I hear the policemen around me shouting things in Thai.
“Please, will someone tell me what’s going on?” I ask. Then louder, then two more times. Each time, I’m ignored.
Finally I lose it.
“My flight’s leaving in less than three hours,” I shout at the heavier cop, the one who held my arms behind my back until the office door was locked. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? I need to get home.” I’m furious; and still, my voice trembles, betraying my fear.
Another guard, the one who is bent over the desk in front of me, pauses; he’s been rifling through paperwork. He levels me with a cold glare.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.” He looks at me like I’m something disgusting. “You’re under arrest.”
28
Charlie
It’s fucking unfathomable what Aubrey thought she could do. She thought she could sneak around behind your back and get away with it, then break up with you on top of it. Too bad she was weak. Too bad she revealed her Achilles heel. She thought she could control you.
But you’re in control.
You’re still in control. No matter how hard it gets.
The fear in her eyes when you told her you’d stay with her. It made you want to show her she can’t dick you over and get away with it. She won’t get away.
For a while, she’ll think she’s free. She’ll feel safe. It’ll all be a mistake.
You’ve made simple plans for Lena. She was a burden to be discarded. But Aubrey is going to suffer.
For Aubrey, you’ve planned a fate far worse than death.
29
Lena