Blood Will Out

chapter three

I try to fight my way back to the surface so many times... I think.

With whatever drugs they gave me I might be coming to or I might just be imagining it all. When I wake up the first time the kid is carrying me up a set of narrow stairs and onto an airplane. My eyes feel like they're magnetically inclined to shut again but I fight to keep them open. I'm carried past the collection of leather chairs to a small door at the back of the plane before being set down on unsteady legs.

"This is a long flight." The kid taps the door behind my head. "And this is the loo. I'd suggest you take advantage of it."

When I lean to the side to see around him, he blocks my path with his body.

"I'll let the dog on the plane once you cooperate, yeah?"

I wish I had the presence of mind to be indignant but whatever they gave me is a stronger mood stabilizer than anything I've ever had before. I can't find the desire to be any emotion at all. Without another word to him I turn and lock myself inside the small room. I've never actually been on an airplane before. I'm assuming my first trip is on a private plane because I doubt Delta lets you roll in with a hostage in tow. I'm also assuming commercial flights don't have bathrooms that are as nicer than my apartment. Everything is shiny inlaid wood and soft lighting. Monogrammed towels and a basket of fancy looking soaps are on the glossy countertop. Drawers open to reveal new toothbrushes still in the packaging; medicines, combs, hair bands... it's practically an aisle at CVS.

A swift knock on the door startles me.

"Oye! You still upright?"

There's no telling how long I've been standing here staring at the unopened package of antacids. I mumble something loud enough for him to hear and turn to use the toilet. It takes me another infinity to realize it's actually underneath the leather bench behind me.

Someday I'm going to look back on this moment and ponder the experience of being amongst this kind of luxury for the first time in my life. Right now, I just feel a sort of detached irony.

I use the fancy soap to wash my hands and then dig into the drawers to brush my teeth. The face wash catches my eye and I nod in agreement, though no one is in here to see me. I was at the sweaty end of a long run when they— Oh my... they took me. I'm on an airplane right now going God-knows-where with God-knows-who!

The barest hint of hysteria bubbles up inside me but almost immediately it's tamped back down. My shoulders slump as I stare at the woman in the mirror. I assume on another day, the lighting is perfectly designed to give off the most flattering view. Today it only serves to highlight my face, grimy with dust and dried sweat; the tracks of tears are still visible trails down both my cheeks. My green eyes seem dull and unfocused; the result of whatever they gave me. My hair is a disaster of wild red chaos. I cannot control anything else, but I can use this magic little drawer to pull myself back together.

It takes longer than it should— my hands keep fumbling into uselessness— but eventually, I emerge with a clean face and my hair pulled up into a topknot. Yes, I'm on drugs of unknown origin in the custody of people I don't know, but I smell better, so at least there's that.

The kid is waiting right where I left him only now there's a wad of black material in his hand. He holds up a Ramones sweatshirt.

"I thought you might—"

His eyes dart down at my outfit and then away. Somewhere through this haze, it penetrates for the first time that I'm wearing my shortest running shorts and a thin white tank top over a neon green sports bra. Fine for long miles, not so great for company. The very idea that I feel underdressed considering the circumstances, annoys me enough to consider turning him down. The rational part of my brain knows that when someone stabs you with a hypodermic needle you shouldn't take anything else from them willingly... but I'd only be hurting myself. I swipe the sweatshirt from his outstretched hand and manage to pull it on. When my head makes its way back into the light, he gestures for me to follow him to the seating area. I only have to stop and steady myself a couple of times on the short trip before I'm in a seat and buckled up. He heads back up to the front. A couple of minutes later Walter comes limping onto the plane and immediately into the seat next to me. The little girl from before boards as well. She walks toward me solemnly. Her looks, I realize upon closer inspection are startling. Her skin is as pale as milk, her hair so blonde it's nearly white and her eyes are a blue-gray that appears nearly see through. She pauses next to my chair and one tiny hand reaches out to graze my cheek. I'm too muted to do anything but stare back.