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Flight
I’ve got some time. I don’t know how long, but at least for now, I’m sat where no one is looking at me, so I’m writing this for you.
There’s nothing I can particularly think of to say to you now. Only that I’m thinking of you, Eve. Wondering where you are. Hoping you are well and that you’re happy.
I’m hunched on a bench in the back of a rickety old plane, shaking and juddering, going somewhere. No clue where. They never tell me anything unless they think I ‘need to know.’ And they don’t think I need to know much.
Maybe it’s true, I don’t know.
I think I’d have a right to know where I’m going and what I’m doing.
Chapter Four
My big tee-shirt doesn’t seem like nearly enough cover. Especially as it’s all I’m wearing, apart from an obscenely thin pair of panties which were the only ones I was able to grab as I hurried to the door.
Three men, tall and square in black suits and black ties, they wear shades like the Men in Black.
The one at the front takes off his sunglasses and squints like Mr. Smith in the Matrix. He says, “Ms. Carlisle, ma’am, we sincerely want to help you.”
His tone is firm, but there’s a warmth in his voice. I don’t know if it really is reassuring or if I’m panicking inside and hunting for anything I can hold on to for comfort.
“That’s nice,” I keep my voice as level as I can. “So, who the fuck are you, and, how did you get in here?”
“We just need a little of your time. May we come in?”
“No. Who are you, for the second time?” But with a stone in my heart, I think I know.
“Ma’m, we’re from the DEA.” He shows me a wallet with a badge and an ID. I can’t believe it says his name is ‘Smith.’ “And we really are here to help.”
“Wasn’t it Reagan who said they were the nine worst words in the English language?”
“He said ‘government,’ I believe,” not-Smith says, smiling. Warm voice, cold smile. Very unsettling. “Now. May we come in?”
I tell him, “Okay. But just you. Leave your clone-Smiths outside.” His eyes narrow to slits. “I’m not going to be outnumbered and intimidated by three Smiths in my own apartment.”
After a hesitation, he makes a smart nod. He doesn’t even look round at the other two. They both turn to face away from the door.
I close the door firmly behind him, and I lead him through the kitchen into the main room. Wolf stands, solid, at the far end of the room, watching as I show the agent to a chair in the dining area.
He looks at Wolf. “Mr. Hellshund.”
Wolf nods and makes a thin smile. “Mr. Pig.”
The agent freezes, glowering for an instant. Wolf shrugs, relaxed.
I offer the agent a chair. He looks at Wolf, tall and brooding, then back at me. “I’ll stand, thank you, Ms. Carlisle.”
“You’re a guest in my home,” I tell him. “You’ll sit.”
His eyelids droop slowly, and he smiles again. I don’t like it when he does that. But he sits. Facing Wolf.
“We’re here, Ms. Carlisle, to offer you protection and some help. We believe you were in contact with someone claiming to be your mother.”
“Do you? How did you come to believe that? And why do you think I would need or want your help or ‘protection’?”
“We can help you. And nobody else can.”
“You can’t help me find Momma. She got away from you.” I keep my tone conversational and hold a lid on the cauldron of emotion boiling inside me. “So, at least tell me the truth. Do you want to help me find her, or are you here so you can get me to help you find her?”
