Still Loop 398
This is what Heather saw.
I know virtually nothing about drugs, but I have an innate feeling that's what this must be. There's nothing else it could be. And everything inside me screams that this powdery stuff and the way it's packaged individually in small amounts, is hugely illegal.
Someone on this plane is smuggling drugs.
But how could illegal drugs have gotten through security and onto the plane in the first place?
I don't know the answer, so I decide to put a pin in that thought and move on to what I do know. And what I know is that right after Heather saw this probably illegally smuggled substance, she beelined straight to the front of the plane and stood in the front corner, adjacent to the cockpit.
I startle as I remember her standing there at the start of the flight, talking about how everyone needed to properly stow their carryon bags and get seated for takeoff.
The intercom. Of course, that's what's in the front corner.
I'm trying to jump down from the armrest but a now enraged Jack Greene grabs my ankle even harder. He's so strong I can't kick him loose. I'm stuck.
I feel the gentle dip of the plane – one that, thanks to Rion's discovery, I now recognize as the plane changing direction.
Meanwhile Lydia's trying to diffuse the situation, and she's so exasperated that red wisps of hair fall out of her meticulously tight updo. "Miss, I need you to get down from there!" she yells at me. And then to Jack Greene, "Sir, sir! Let go of her! And sit down!"
But it's not working. For either of us. I can't get down, and he won't let go.
Then I hear Rion call me. "Evelynnn...." It's a strangled, miserable rendition of my name.
I glance at the front of the cabin and spot Rion facing the bathroom door, in what appears to be a state of shock. He's frozen to the spot.
I try kicking myself loose of Jack's grip as Rion says my name again. He doesn't say it loudly, but I can hear from the tone in his voice that something isn't right.
Dread calcifies in my bones. No. Something is very, very wrong.
I'm running short on time, and need to get Jack off of me. Fear rattles through my body as I reach up, grab a smaller beach bag from the overhead bin, and pull it down. Gripping the canvas handle firmly in my hand, I swing the woven handbag around like I'm throwing a javelin, clocking Jack Greene directly in the face. He yelps, releasing his grip and I twist my ankle out of his hand. I half-jump, half-fall into the aisle as other passengers get up, and begin closing in on me.
I see Mason making his way towards me, large and imposing, but I'm not going to let him get me. I won't let his knee dig into my back. Not this time around.
"No way, not on this loop, buddy," I yell to Mason and I'm sprinting with everything I have in me towards the front of the plane. I collide into errant knees and crush a foot somewhere mid-cabin, but I don't slow down. Can't slow down. I run as if my life is depending on it.
Because it is.
My vision fixes on Rion, who hasn't moved a single inch since he called my name. His gaze is still locked on whatever's in front of him.
There's a noise behind me, at the back of the plane. Janelle Fiori has collapsed, but I pay no attention to that.
When I get to Rion I reach out to him, gripping his arm. I'm panting, but he can't tear his eyes away from whatever he's looking at. So, I follow his steely gaze and the first thing I see is red.
There's red everywhere.
I startle, realizing what it is.
Blood.
Red blood covers the bathroom. It's in puddles all over the floor. Smeared along the wall and splattered against the tiny sink and mirror. It's drips down the folding door like streaks of red paint. But it isn't paint.
I blink, and then blink again, but all I can see is red.
Mason catches up to me and grabs my arm, holding me back as if I'm about to do something dangerous or impulsive. Or both. But his gaze must follow mine to the open bathroom door, as his fingers slacken in shock.
But I'm not paying attention to Mason because just then I register the body draped over the toilet seat in the tiny airplane bathroom. A long, thin body. A thick blanket of blonde hair hangs in front of an expressionless face that I recognize at once.
It's Heather.
My heart slams against my chest, my breath thick in my lungs. Bile rises in my throat, burning, and I'm heaving for air. I struggle to keep myself standing. From not crumbling to the blood-soaked floor.
I take in the scene, like everything's suddenly in slow motion. Like time is slithering at a snail's pace, and my brain's trudging through mud, trying its hardest to comprehend the incomprehensible.
Heather's lying backwards at an unnatural angle, her hazel eyes open. Lifeless. There's a slit – an open gash – stretching horizontally across her slender neck. Blood spills out, thick and red, like a faucet that won't turn off.
No! Nononono.
Then I notice someone else.
A man is cramped in the corner of the tiny bathroom, standing over Heather's slackened body. A dark-haired man with light green eyes. A layer of dark stubble pops through his pointed chin. He watches me with a dangerous look in his eyes.
I blink, in shock. I'm absolutely certain I've never seen this man before in my almost 400 hundred loops on this plane.
His wild eyes stare at me, while his fingers clench a box cutter in one hand. It's coated with Heather's blood.
But before I have time to process that Heather's dead, and that this man I've never seen before killed her, he's lunging forward. At me.
I'm stunned, unable to move.
Before I have time to react, he's pulling my hair, yanking me towards him. The blade in his hand comes down, the cold metal pressing against my neck. Ready to slice through my skin.
It all happens so quick and fear explodes throughout me. I squeal, as he pulls my hair harder, the sharp blade resting right under my chin. He's dragging me towards him.
If I die, will the time loop even reset? Could the end of me mean the end for everyone on this plane?
Then Mason pounces at the man, punching him directly in the face. It's a stunning reversal. Mason Kahn – my frenemy who has restrained me countless times in these hundreds of loops and fractured my ribs on at least five different occasions – is now saving my life.
The man with the blade falls back from the impact, releasing my hair. And at that very moment, the plane dives forward.
Rion pulls me close, shielding me within his arms. I lean into him, into his coconut-scented sunscreen and his soft white cotton t-shirt, and for a sheer moment I'm overcome with a sense of calm. Tucked into his arms, for a split second, everything is right in the world.
Caught in his protective embrace, together we slam against the cockpit door as the plane plummets towards the ocean.
And with the impact, everything suddenly rushes back.
My face presses against Rion's chest, and with my voice muffled in his close hold, something inside me shifts and releases. Instead of burying everything I'm fearing, for a change, I let it out. And I scream at the top of my lungs.
I'm screaming for Heather, who's dead body lies just out of reach.
I'm screaming for my father, who is nothing more than a pile of ash in the bag stowed under my seat.
I'm screaming for Rion. Who deserves the absolute world, but instead is stuck with a crappy illness on an awful plane crashing time loop. One that now has a murderer in it, too.
I'm screaming for the fact that there's only a few – or less than a few – loops left until we crash and burn, until we plunge into the Pacific, and sink to the depths of the ocean floor. And instead of getting closer to solving this, it's just growing uglier and messier with every passing loop.
But, most of all, I'm screaming for everyone onboard this plane. All these innocent people, the majority of which I've grown to really like, that I'm so deathly afraid I'm going to fail.