CHAPTER 4
Christina and Gloria crouched on the cool linoleum floor of Jessica's room. Reality of the situation was sinking in. Jessica was gone--right off the face of the earth--and Gloria knew that Christina had no idea if Richard or Ryan had suffered the same fate or not.
“My baby,” Christina whimpered, over and over. Gloria found it almost unbelievable that this was the same woman who, only a few hours ago, was laughing hysterically at a movie and had been so vibrant. She crouched next to her hostess and laid a hand on her shoulder. If only there were some way to make her feel better!
Christina had seemed to age several years since they’d gone to bed earlier. Her disheveled hair hung in her face, her hands shook, and tears streaked her face. She snuffled again and again. Gloria could only hold her. Silently, she begged God to help her friend. For a second, she looked around the bedroom, flooded with soft lamplight.
“Gloria,” she said, shaking her head. “This can’t be real! I mean, surely, this is some horrible nightmare that I'll wake up from any minute.” Her voice shook, and she wiped her cheeks with her fingertips.
Gloria had felt the same way from the moment she’d learned Jessica was missing. Still, she knew better than to think so. Especially after Tess' visit.
Gloria said softly, “I don't think so Christina. As much as I want to think that, I can’t.”
That broke Christina into sobs again, and Gloria wondered if she should have said that. But it was too late, it had already been said. A stab of guilt shot through Gloria’s heart as she held Christina again. Sometimes, she wished she had the gift of speaking the truth in a more tactful manner, as Monica could. Gloria, however, only knew how to be blunt.
“I’m going back to bed.” Christina rose to her feet. As switched off the light and trudged out of the room, Gloria gazed at her sadly.
Please, Father, she silently prayed, help her! And please help Richard and Ryan. Rising to her feet, the angel returned to the guest room, where she slid under the soft bedcovers. As she listened to Christina sob herself to sleep, Gloria silently prayed for her. Within minutes, she fell asleep.
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Richard clutched his flight bag against his hip as he limped across Central Park. He tried to walk as normally as possible, but when he held his weight on his injured foot for too long, it hurt to the point where he nearly blacked out the first time he'd tried it.
He used the limp to his advantage though, taking long steps with his good foot, and making a quick hop with his bad, resulting in a skip-like run.
A cool breeze caressed his cheek. Once, he glanced down at the grass at his feet. Each blade sparkled with dewdrops.
It didn't take long for him to reach the street lamp that guided him through the park. Richard was surprised to find himself out of breath as he reached the sidewalk. Reaching forward, he grabbed the pole, perspiring and gasping for breath.
The day had taken a lot out of him, that was certain. And running didn't help either. He wiped his perspiring face, then held it toward the sky to let the breeze cool his cheeks once more.
Only then did he notice that it was becoming lighter. The sky around him became a lighter and lighter shade of blue, then began taking on tones of pink.
Richard wanted to stop and admire the sunrise, but it didn't feel right to do that without Christina. He caught his breath, and continued limping.
As he walked, the hot pink color of the sky turned to bright orange. Richard normally hated the color, but it seemed so right in the midst of a sunrise. He only wished he could share it with Christina. That, and stop his left ankle from throbbing. He glanced down at his flight bag, and continued his trek.
Richard watched in awe as the sunrise sent small beams of light throughout the sky. It was a magnificent sight. He had seen numerous sunrises in the cockpit, and they never failed to fill him with awe.
Richard continued limping. Determination to get home drove him forward.
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Christina woke up suddenly. Rubbing her eyes, she looked at the clock, then raised her head to gaze out the window. It’s dawn.
The mattress sagged and creaked as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Yawning, she rose from her bed and stumbled toward the bathroom. She had slept for almost two hours. Gloria, she knew, had gone to sleep in her guest room.
This is the worst time of my life, Christina thought, splashing her face with cold water. I thought my mother’s death on September 11th devastating, but this is even worse! She sighed. How am I going to tell Richard? What will I tell him? That our baby girl just disappeared without a trace?
Moaning, she leaned against the sink, shaking her head. The smooth surface felt cold to her fingers. And where is Richard? He should have been home long before now! Has he disappeared, too? Please, God, bring him home safely! Sighing, she dabbed her red, swollen eyes with a wet washcloth. Where’s a cigarette? I need a cigarette!
“Christina? Are you all right?”
Christina turned around to see Gloria standing behind her. Christina had just trudged into the kitchen to fix breakfast. Now she sighed. “No, I’m not. Richard still isn’t home.” She choked back a sob. “Oh, Gloria! What am I going to do if Richard is gone, too? How will I cope with losing both my daughter and my husband? And--and my brother? Isn’t it enough that I’ve already lost my--my--!” She put her face in her hands.
“Your mother?” Gloria asked softly. Christina nodded. Gloria squeezed her shoulder. “Pray for Richard, and put him in God’s hands. And Ryan, too. God is looking out for them, Christina--and for you.” Tilting her head, she smiled encouragingly at her friend.
Christina raised her now tear-streaked face and nodded. The sweet smell of soap wafted toward Christina’s nose--evidently, her houseguest had washed her face just a moment before. As Gloria put her arms around the distraught woman, Christina whispered, “Please, God, take care of Richard and bring him home. And protect Ryan. Amen.”
“Amen,” Gloria echoed. She stepped back. “I’ll clean up the living room while you make breakfast, OK?” Christina nodded, smiling wanly. She patted her hair and sighed.
Sliding her glasses up the bridge of her nose, Gloria strode out of the kitchen. With a sigh, Christina opened the cabinet and pulled out a skillet. She still had to make breakfast--Gloria was probably hungry. And if Richard does get home, she thought, he will want breakfast, too! Gritting her teeth, Christina opened the refrigerator to open her carton of eggs. I’ve a good mind to get a cigarette when we’re done. No reason not to smoke now.
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Richard moved as quickly as he could with his hurting ankle. He tried to ignore it, and this time he succeeded.
The sun had risen halfway above the horizon, but the streets were deserted. Richard's eyes were blurred, he was exhausted, and his ankle was killing him. Suddenly, he stepped on a hollow in the ground. The next instant, he was falling down--again! As Richard landed with a thud on his stomach, he yelled in frustration. How many times would he have to fall?
Pain surged through his ankle once more. Richard swore loudly. Great! he thought. This is the second time I've twisted my ankle since getting off that plane. I'm gonna be on crutches for a while when I get home!
Richard stared at his foot, anger welling up inside him. Gritting his teeth in determination, Richard stood up. In a fit of rage, he raised his right leg backwards, swearing violently, and kicked a pebble against the nearest tree. I’ve got to get home, somehow!
As he turned to limp home, a car pulled up next to him. It was a bright red Cadillac convertible with its top down. A heavy African-American woman sat behind the wheel. Pearl earrings dangled from her ear lobes.
“Hello, baby!” the woman called to him. “Could you use a ride?”
Richard, still irritable from the fall and his hurting leg, snapped at her. “My name is not ‘baby.’”
The woman retorted, “Well, excuse me if I don't know your name. I call everyone ‘baby,’ and you’re no exception. Now do you want a ride or not?” She wagged her finger.
Richard nodded, and silently got into the car. Boy, he thought, this woman can slap you hard without laying her pinky on you. He set the flight bag on the seat between the woman and himself.
The woman smiled at him. “My name is Tess. How far is your house?”
Richard nodded once. “Richard Daly. I live about ten blocks down.”
Neither said a word on the ensuing drive. Richard didn’t feel like chatting, and to his relief, Tess did not try to get him to talk.
Less than five minutes later, the car pulled up in front of his house. Grabbing his flight bag, Richard opened the door and stepped out. As he shut the door, he looked at Tess. “Thank you.”
She nodded. “You’re welcome, baby.”
Richard smiled at the term this time. He couldn't help but wonder if he would ever see her again, but that thought only lasted a moment when he realized he was only a dozen steps away from seeing Christina again.
As the thrill of knowing he’d gotten home made his heart soar, Richard limped toward the porch. His boots clumped on the sidewalk extending from the curb to the porch steps. Gritting his teeth, he ignored his throbbing ankle. I’m home, Christina!
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Ryan perched on the edge of the hotel bed, with his hands in his pants pockets. The news played from the TV screen. There were many theories, and almost no evidence to support any of them thus far.
Ryan bit his lower lip as the screen projected one horrifying image after another, telling of shocking incidences of accidents caused by people‘s disappearances, as well as grief-stricken people interviewed on camera who had lost loved. This is terrible! he thought. How much of this do Richard and Christina know? Wish I could get hold of them! The dratted phone lines have been tied up ever since I checked in. He shook his head.
Slowly, Ryan pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Slowly, he tugged at the knot in his tie, resisting the impulse to simply rip it off his neck. All the while, he kept his eyes on the television screen.
Suddenly, Ryan was startled out his almost trance-like state by the jangling sound of his cell phone. Ryan caught his breath. “Maybe it’s Richard or Christina,” he muttered.
Grasping his cell phone, Ryan pushed a button and held the phone to his ear. “Ryan Whittaker.”
“Mr. Whittaker.” The accented voice of his new employer spoke in Ryan’s ear. “This is Antonio. I am afraid there's a question I forgot to ask you.”
Disappointed, Ryan bit his lip. Too bad--he wished it’d been his sister or brother-in-law. As Antonio’s remark sank in, curiosity surged in Ryan’s heart. What kind of question was Puccini going to ask him?
“I was planning on asking you for a recommendation. My airplane staff is short by a senior flight attendant. Since you are a pilot, I am assuming you have worked with a good many of them.”
Ryan remembered his flight to Italy. The red-headed young flight attendant named Monica. He’d never worked with her, but there was something about her.
“Uh…” Ryan paused. “Yeah, I think I do have a recommendation.”
“Wonderful!” said Puccini. Ryan couldn't help but wonder how he could sound so cheerful. “Can you come back to the office? So we can talk about the flight attendant you are recommending?”
“Of course, sir,” Ryan said. “Do you want me to come down there now?”
“If you would.”
As Ryan talked to Puccini, he found his mind wandering. He’d get a chance to work with that Monica woman. He didn’t know why, but he was looking forward to that prospect.
END OF CHAPTER 4