Home Again, Home Again

“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place

where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”
-Maya Angelou

It was a great relief to inspect the entire passenger group, face by face, carefully, and not find a single one we had encountered before.

“She’s not here, Boss,” Hugo said with a boyish grin on his mug.

“Let’s hope that means she is still in D.C.,” I said, and then added the possibility we had both understood, “but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have flown directly out of Washington to K.C.”

We stopped because the “Seat-belt Speech” had begun. We had both become movie critics when this performance was concerned.

“Very nice delivery,” I told him.

“I like the way she smiled all the way through,” he critiqued, “But her hand gestures were . . . “

“Tentative?” I ventured.

“Yeah!” he smirked, “They lacked a certain dedication to the material. She just didn’t feel comfortable enough with her hand movements.”

“You’d only be happy,” I said sarcastically, “If she waved her arms strong enough to take flight without the plane.”

He shot back without a seconds pause, “It would have been worth watching, am I right?”

Have I mentioned that I love this guy?

I ordered the chicken, while Hugo ordered the fish. I don’t know why, but that made me a little uneasy.

That unease vanished quickly when the stewardess come over to my seat and said, “Mr. Savage we have an air-phone call for you. Our long cord was damaged during a call on the last flight, so could you come up and take it at our lady’s station?”

I excused myself and walked up to the area she had suggested and was handed a receiver.

“Boss?” It was Rayleen.

“Hey,” I smiled, “couldn’t wait for us to get there, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said tentatively.

“What’s up, kiddo?” I was suddenly in detective mode. “What’s wrong?”

“We got a message on the answer phone last night,” she said slowly. “It was taken about 1 a.m., the machine says.”

“So they knew no one live would answer the phone,” I said.

“Yeah, that was my thought. It was on the thing when I got here this morning, along with about 20 drunk calls wanting us to find winning Irish Sweepstakes numbers and such. You know, the usual idiots.”

“So, what’s it say?”

“Under your seat,” she read, “you will find a package. This is just to let you know that we are serious. We will be calling with a ransom demand for Dr. Fox, Dr. Gather and their loved ones in the near future. Do not bring the police in; do not call the FBI. If that happens, you will be pulling the trigger to the gun being held at their heads at this moment. Then . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Well, then there were five gunshots on the tape. Then the voice said, ‘I missed, on purpose, this time. Next time the first of them will be dead, and you will have killed them.’”

“That’s a bit theatrical, don’t you think?”

“Well . . .”

Rayleen was, despite a gruff exterior, as gentle a human as I had ever known.

“He was laughing, Boss,” she said. “Like an old movie monster movie mad doctor.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “We’re going to catch these guys, and nobody is going to get hurt.”

There was quite a pause on the other end of the line, then “Boss, could I talk to him?”

“Sure.”

I waved for Hugo to come up and take the phone.

We passed the phone and I returned to my seat.

I looked on the floor, but there wasn’t anything there.

But, taped to Hugo’s seat bottom was a small box.

I forgot that we switched seats so he could be next to the aisle.

I pulled the tape from the metal and sat down in my chair.

Opening the box, I found a paper box that had its lower half soaked in what I could only assume was blood. There was also a small plastic sandwich bag. Inside the bag was a piece of white paper. On the paper, written in what I also had to assume was blood, was written the word “Help!”

The letters were not formed by any kind of pen. They looked like they had been formed by a finger. Like painting with a finger.

Hugo came back and said, “She’s still on the line; she asked me to find out if you found whatever . . . “

seymoure

The Ilium Obligation (A Matt Savage Adventure) Chapter 39

Home Again, Home Again

“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place

where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” -Maya Angelou

It was a great relief to inspect the entire passenger group, face by face, carefully, and not find a single one we had encountered before.

“She’s not here, Boss,” Hugo said with a boyish grin on his mug.

“Let’s hope that means she is still in D.C.,” I said, and then added the possibility we had both understood, “but that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have flown directly out of Washington to K.C.”

We stopped because the “Seat-belt Speech” had begun. We had both become movie critics when this performance was concerned.

“Very nice delivery,” I told him.

“I like the way she smiled all the way through,” he critiqued, “But her hand gestures were . . . “

“Tentative?” I ventured.

“Yeah!” he smirked, “They lacked a certain dedication to the material. She just didn’t feel comfortable enough with her hand movements.”

“You’d only be happy,” I said sarcastically, “If she waved her arms strong enough to take flight without the plane.”

He shot back without a seconds pause, “It would have been worth watching, am I right?”

Have I mentioned that I love this guy?

I ordered the chicken, while Hugo ordered the fish. I don’t know why, but that made me a little uneasy.

That unease vanished quickly when the stewardess come over to my seat and said, “Mr. Savage we have an air-phone call for you. Our long cord was damaged during a call on the last flight, so could you come up and take it at our lady’s station?”

I excused myself and walked up to the area she had suggested and was handed a receiver.

“Boss?” It was Rayleen.

“Hey,” I smiled, “couldn’t wait for us to get there, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said tentatively.

“What’s up, kiddo?” I was suddenly in detective mode. “What’s wrong?”

“We got a message on the answer phone last night,” she said slowly. “It was taken about 1 a.m., the machine says.”

“So they knew no one live would answer the phone,” I said.

“Yeah, that was my thought. It was on the thing when I got here this morning, along with about 20 drunk calls wanting us to find winning Irish Sweepstakes numbers and such. You know, the usual idiots.”

“So, what’s it say?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, then there were five gunshots on the tape. Then the voice said, ‘I missed, on purpose, this time. Next time the first of them will be dead, and you will have killed them.’”

“That’s a bit theatrical, don’t you think?”

“Well . . .”

Rayleen was, despite a gruff exterior, as gentle a human as I had ever known.

“He was laughing, Boss,” she said. “Like an old movie monster movie mad doctor.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “We’re going to catch these guys, and nobody is going to get hurt.”

There was quite a pause on the other end of the line, then “Boss, could I talk to him?”

“Sure.”

I waved for Hugo to come up and take the phone.

We passed the phone and I returned to my seat.

I looked on the floor, but there wasn’t anything there.

But, taped to Hugo’s seat bottom was a small box.

I forgot that we switched seats so he could be next to the aisle.

I pulled the tape from the metal and sat down in my chair.

Opening the box, I found a paper box that had its lower half soaked in what I could only assume was blood. There was also a small plastic sandwich bag. Inside the bag was a piece of white paper. On the paper, written in what I also had to assume was blood, was written the word “Help!”

The letters were not formed by any kind of pen. They looked like they had been formed by a finger. Like painting with a finger.

Hugo came back and said, “She’s still on the line; she asked me to find out if you found whatever . . . “

He saw the box and the paper.

“Oh, damn,” he said, “I hate that kind of stuff.”

“Right out of an 1800’s story,” I said.

“Sherlock Holmes?”

“More like Edgar Allen Poe,” I said, and closed the box.

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where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”
-Maya Angelou