Writer: Timothy Dumont Jr.
Co-writer: Crystal Ferguson

Friday, June 18, 2010

119: Tears and Relations -Crystal-

"Hello, Mom?"

A person nearby was talking in to a cell.

"Mom, I love you, okay?" His voice broke.

"No, no, I'm okay. I'm just calling to tell you that I never meant to upset you and I'm sorry. I'll never forget all that you taught me." He went silent, tears along his cheeks.

"Could you tell Dad that I miss him? Tell him that I know he was rough, but I understand that he was just looking out for me. No, I'm fine. Just . . . tell him I love him too. Please put some flowers on Charlene's grave for me?"

Sounds of crying and panic had flooded across the passengers quickly and I'll admit, I was scared too. This isn't something that happens to you every day. This couldn't be happening. My life had been too short, and the only people I could call were either here or . . .

My Dad. I could call him. He wouldn't recognize me, but I wanted to tell him I loved him. Tell him that I've never forgotten him. Say goodbye.

I sat there staring at my cell phone trying to get the nerve to call when I felt a tug on my sleeve. Glancing down I saw a young boy. He looked to be about 5 and his eyes were filled with tears.


I kept silent and stared at the kid, seeing him put me on the verge of tears. Such a small child close to my age, losing his life so early.

"Lady? My Dad won't hear me! He's not listening!"

"Where is your daddy?"

The young boy pointed at a man who was embroiled in the panic, yelling about revolting against their captors. There was no way to get that guy listening.

"What did you need?"

"The bad men. They took the plane and I'm not gonna see my Mommy again.", he started crying loudly and fell to his knees, "I WANT MY MOMMY!"

Tears streamed down my face as I watched this child cry. A couple of seats away I heard people talking.

They were saying goodbye to their children. They could barely speak.

Slowly anger filled me, something I'm not accustomed to. I knelt down in front of the boy and patted his head.

"It's gonna be all right. Do you know your phone number?", I smiled.

"835-555-4930!", he said proudly.

I dialed the number and handed my phone to him. My Father would have to wait.

"Here, you tell your mother how much you love her, okay? Don't worry, I have a couple of friends who may be able to help."

"I'm sure we can come up with something."

I turned to see Ben walking up the aisle toward me, followed by Carl and Nick.

"So, what's the plan, boss?", I looked up at Ben.

"First, you stop calling me boss. Then we save these people."

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

118: Something Arises -Ben-

The trouble with being a leader is that everything falls on your head. Someone has trouble being a team-player? Go to the leader. Found a case? Go to the leader. Realize that the flight we got on is scheduled to have an explosive finish? Go to the leader.

Sometimes you just want to close your eyes and pretend someone else is in charge.

"I know what I saw.", Carl was looking at me with a stern face, "I saw a passenger with a parachute in his bag."

"So, because you saw a parachute, you think the plane is going to blow up? That's hardly enough. You're just panicking."

Maybe I was hoping it wasn't true, maybe I wanted to ignore the facts, or maybe I just wanted to get out of this bathroom before my reputation for being a straight male took a nose dive. Besides, it was really cramped in there.

"Not just that, when I was in the back chatting up this attendant, a big guy came in and asked me to leave. Normally I wouldn't have listened, but the attendant didn't want a problem so I left. Not before I saw the gun underneath his jacket though."

All I wanted to do was go take care of this case with out some kind of disaster happening that put us all in harms way. What do I get? Terrorists. It's a good day to be alive.

I put my hand on the door handle, "Listen, it could have been an Air Marshal or something. We'll keep an eye out but we won't make any moves till we figure out if it's really a group of terrorists.”

Being a leader means being patient, and willing to hear every crazy idea that your colleagues come up with. You have to be able to tell them that their suspicions are probably just that and then push it out of your mind.

The walk back to our seats was accompanied by many stares from our fellow passengers. I guess two guys coming out of a one person bathroom at 30,000 feet is enough to make people wonder.

I sighed heavily as I slumped in my seat, and no sooner had I closed my eyes when a gruff voice came over the com.

"Hello passengers. I do hope you've had a nice flight. Sadly, this will be your last. If you need to make any calls please do so, and don't forget to say your I love yous and goodbyes, because you will not be seeing them ever again.”

"I hate to be so harsh but this is a very delicate operation, so if you'd please not cause any problems then we won't miss our target. Why do you want us to hit our target? Because if we do only a couple hundred people will die, including you. If we miss, we'll be hitting a very full and very public place, which would probably increase that number ten-fold. Thank you for flying with us and have a nice day."

Then panic ensued.

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Saturday, June 5, 2010

117: A Connection -Vincent-

I had my head inside Carl’s boxers, and the smell was tremendous. Why did I have to be put inside the suitcase? Crystal could have carried me, I would have been good. Maybe Carl was punishing me for the crap I pulled on the way to rescue Crystal. After all, me being here was his idea.

All I had to do was find a way to get him back.

Foraging through his things I came across a bag of pens, a knife, some zip-lock bags, a lighter, and some heavy duty rubber bands. Looking at the pens, I smiled at the words, "Permanent Ink."

Now I had an idea. I grabbed the knife the best I could and slowly cut the pens, emptying the ink into the zip-lock bags.

So he thinks since I’m small and fuzzy that I can't do anything? I can't wait to see his face after this. I took the lighter and sealed the bags shut. I had three bags in all, each filled to the brim with permanent ink. I grabbed the rubber bands and tied each end to the locking mechanisms on either side of the suitcase, making a make-shift slingshot. I tied the third rubber band to the middle of the first and pulled it back, wedging it between the lips of the suitcase in such a way that when its opened, it would release what ever the slingshot was holding at Carl. I put one ink packet in the slingshot and the other two I stuffed in his shoes.

I sat down in a corner and leaned back. I was thinking of trying to sleep, but lately the dreams kept getting worse. I was always tied and Andrew always had the machete. If there was a God, he had a sick sense of humor by bringing me back.

This Door of Death had me spooked. Something about it stirred a memory, and not a good one. Something I couldn't quite place but it made the dreams so much worse. Now I was seeing Crystal having her head smashed in.

What was it that I remembered?


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