Perfect World. (On Hold)

8: In The Air.

Name: Jamie

Location: Flying towards Rapid City

Time: 0930

I pulled a small bag from the cubby I'd been directed to and opened it. Inside was toothpaste, a toothbrush still in its package, deoderant, hair brush and combs, dry shampoo... Many handy things.

"You've obviously done this a lot." I noted. The plane was fairly quiet inside, so we were able to talk without shouting. He simply nodded, staring out the windsheild. There was a mirror on the door of the cubby, and I quickly did what I could to freshen up, putting on a clean hoodie over my smelly shirt and spraying myself with perfume to cover the smell of sweat.

I glanced at the mirror again. Not perfect, but it would have to do. I grabbed a can of food and the first aid kit, then went to sit in the co-pilot's seat. Mark was silent as I shoveled my face full of food, waiting until I was done. When I set the can aside and started using antiseptic on the worst of my scrapes, he finally spoke.

"What happened to your first contact? I haven't been able to get ahold of him."

I paused, glancing at him. His expression proved what his voice denied. He was worried. He must've known him. I took a deep breath. "Are you sure you want to know?" I asked quietly, warning in my voice. He blinked, turning to me. "He was killed. Shot in the chest. I found him hanging in his cabin."

Mark inhaled sharply, turning away to stare out the window. Did you know him? I almost asked, but bit my tongue. Just leave him alone. My heart told me. I glanced down, distracting myself by putting away the medical supplies.

Suddenly my eyes froze on a crumpled newspaper lying on the floor by my feet. Man killed in hit and run car accident. The headline read. Today's date was on it, from the town we'd just left. I picked it up, hands shaking, and stared at the photos. The wreck, and the man. My second contact. I scanned the story, looking for details. Had he been killed because he'd somehow been connected to me?

Suddenly the paper was snatched from my hands. "Don't bother, it had nothing to do with you." Mark interrupted, as though reading my thoughts.

"Then why the timing?" I demanded, unconvinced.

"Coincidence, he was killed on his way home from making speeches on the street corner in town." 

"And my first contact?" I pressed, needing to know. Mark swallowed.

"He died for other reasons."

"Why does that not convince me?" I sigh, glancing out the window. 

"He was killed because he was my brother." He growled, hands clenched on the stick. I fell silent. Jack? His brother? The tight knot in my stomach grew even tighter. Suddenly it felt as if my whole world was falling apart, and now that I was out of survival-mode, I had time to realize just how bad things were. I glanced at Mark again. His jaw was clenched, and I could see him fighting his emotions.

I touched his arm. "I'm so sorry." He just nodded and focused on staring out the windshield intently. I moved my hand away and stared out my own window silently, I was too tired to mourn the death of my friends. I soon found myself drifting off...