Misty Falls by Joss Stirling
‘Don’t be surprised, Misty, when people don’t notice you,’ Johan said cheerfully. ‘I’m going to expand my gift to cover you so you won’t register on any of their senses. It takes a lot of effort for me to do this so I trust you won’t give me any trouble?’
I was fully intending to be as much trouble as I could so I said nothing.
He parked in front of a little glass building. ‘This is the terminal for VIPs and those with their own planes.’ He emptied out the glove compartment of anything connecting him to the car. ‘I won’t be long.’
I watched as he went into the building. The moment his back was turned and he was talking to the official at the reception, I tried the door. Locked. I tried to move the mechanism with telekinesis but I didn’t know how the catch worked and I lacked Alex’s gift to persuade doors to do what I wanted.
Johan was coming back. I sat very still.
He opened my door and cut the ties at my feet. ‘We’re good to go. Again, you have a choice: cooperate and remain conscious or do this the hard way.’
‘Conscious.’ I got out. There would be a crew, surely, people I could appeal to on the plane if nowhere else?
‘Good girl.’
He gripped the back of my coat to stop me trying to make a run for it and led me across to a plane—an executive jet of some sort. Beautiful, slender, and white—it was the kind of aircraft I’d only ever seen in films. A stewardess waited at the door.
‘Welcome, Mr Smith. So pleased to see you back with us.’
Johan gave her a broad smile. ‘Hebe, great to see you too.’
Now or never. ‘Please, won’t you help me?’ I shouted.
Johan poked me in the ribs, finger a threat, reminding me what he could do.
Her eyes slipped right past me. ‘Is there any luggage to bring aboard?’
‘No, it’s already loaded.’ He prodded me to go up the stairs.
‘Then I’ll inform the captain you’re ready to fly.’
She stepped inside. Johan pushed me over the threshold and into the main cabin. We walked past the row of four seats to a door at the back. He opened it and propelled me inside. It was a private cabin with a bed and a seat by the window.
‘Sit there.’ He buckled me into the seat. ‘The door will be locked. If I hear you making any noise to attract attention to yourself, I’ll be through that door first and that will be the last thing you know.’ He pinched my chin. ‘Do you understand?’
I nodded, tears filling my eyes despite my resolution not to show him any emotion.
He patted my head. ‘If you behave, I’ll bring you some food later. The flight takes about ten or so hours depending on the headwind.’
He left, locking the door from the outside.
Once alone, I sprang up to explore my prison. There was a little bathroom with sink, toilet and tiny shower. Other than soap and hand towels, there was nothing. The bed was made with a tightly stretched blanket and sheet. I could rip up the material but then do what with it? The seat by the window was fixed; the lighting was wall-mounted—no handy heavy-based lamp to turn into a weapon.
Come on, Misty, be realistic: you’re a smallish girl and he’s a tall man. You’re unlikely to do anything but annoy him if you attack.
But neither do I want just to fall in with his plans.
What other option do you have?
My inner dialogue stopped at that point as the engines started.
‘Mr Smith, on behalf of First Officer Finlay and myself, Captain Hussain, I’d like to welcome you aboard this flight to Portland, Oregon. We have been given our slot by air traffic control and expect to take off in five minutes. The weather forecast looks good at this time. Please be seated, buckle up, and enjoy your flight.’
The plane started to move. Johan had forgotten, or perhaps not intended, to remove my wrist ties. Having no immediate escape plan, I took my seat and grappled for the seatbelt. Gazing out the window, I had a last fleeting hope some airport employee would see me but the field was deserted as 747s lumbered along the taxiways like sleek white dinosaurs. We turned to the start of the runway, paused and then the aircraft moved with more determination. The front lifted, then the rear. We were airborne, climbing steeply. Johan had managed to get me out of England without even a hint of difficulty.
The captain came on again. ‘Mr Smith, in a few moments it will be safe to remove your seatbelt. Hebe will then serve you a selection of light snacks and drinks, followed by lunch when we reach our cruising height. Thank you for flying with Executive Manoeuvres, the world’s premier airline for business charters.’
As I had begun to piece together, Johan had hired his own plane. It sounded like he made a habit of it. It must cost a fortune. Where had he got the money?
The answer came quickly. His last victim had been a treasure seeker, and there had been others with similar skills—the Australian girl, the American trio with their stocks and shares. I had to assume money was no obstacle in my enemy’s plans for me.
The seatbelt light went off so I released the buckle. The door to my cabin opened and Johan slipped in.
‘I’m pleased to see you haven’t tried anything foolish.’
Only because I couldn’t think of what to do.
‘I’ll reward your cooperation by releasing your wrists. You may shower—I won’t need to use this bathroom.’
‘I’d like to get clean.’ Lying in the forest had left a layer of grime no handwash or clean clothes could remove.
‘I’ll bring you some lunch in an hour.’ He left, locking the door again.
There was a ‘call attendant’ button by the seat. Did I dare? Hebe did not expect anyone else to be aboard so would she even check? And if she did, what then? Would it endanger her and the crew? I guessed that was likely. Until I had a better idea what to do with that button, I’d leave it alone. Picking a fight with Johan while in the air was like releasing a swarm of killer bees in the cabin: dead stupid.
So, shower it was.
I stripped off in the little cubicle and stood under the spray. I let tears I’d been holding back fall with the water now there was no one to see. The ugly truth was that I was unlikely to survive this adventure. Johan had killed before, easily and with no regrets. For the moment he had a use for me but I was an obstacle to him monopolizing Alex’s love. That thought made it even worse: if he succeeded in killing me, he would also ruin Alex’s life, forcing him in his grief to rely on the very one who caused it. I wanted to scream at the obscenity of that.
My inner voice piped up: so you accept that Alex does need you for his life?
Yes, I did.
You were an idiot to make such a fuss at the pizzeria.
I knew that at the time, thanks. I just … just don’t feel enough for him.
Then you’d better fight for what you want—if you want him.
To the death, I promised myself.
As I had dismissed the idea of putting up a struggle on the plane, I decided to wait until we got on the ground and Johan was lulled into thinking I was going meekly along with his plans.
My teeth ached. Now was not the time to have a truth attack. Meek wasn’t a lie: I would be passive until the moment arrived for resistance. And my chance would only be one very brief second, I was sure of that. There were various things to look for. I needed to be conscious and out of his range. How far was that? I didn’t know. So far he had kept me by his side when he wanted to hide me from others. Taking my own truth gift as a guide, my influence spread to a room; beyond that they were free to lie without interference. I needed to get that distance before I tried.
And appeal to whom? I knew some of the Benedicts lived in the west of America—Yves and Phoenix were in California. How far was that? I cursed the fact I’d never paid attention to the map of the States, which surely I had to have seen loads of times. I had a vague memory of something called the Oregon Trail, one of the last settler routes, which is why I knew it was over the far side of the country. Biting my nails as
OK, I’d just have to scream an appeal for help and hope a local savant was listening. At the very least I wanted Alex to know it was Johan, even if I couldn’t save myself.
Not that I was giving up. At the bottom of Misty ‘Screwup’ Devon, I discovered I had a deep and firm foundation of stubbornness. Johan had had it easy from me so far only because I had been more scared than angry; in Oregon he was going to find I was one pissed off savant.
Phoenix and Sky had advised me what to do, little knowing I’d need their words of wisdom so soon. Look for anything to be a weapon and use it. OK, I had my truth gift, some telekinetic powers, and ace hand-eye coordination. That had to add up to something. I was not going like a lamb to the slaughter.
A line from a favourite Dylan Thomas poem came to mind: ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’ Though written for old age, it felt appropriate for what I faced. Johan’s method of killing was oddly gentle: obscene but without violence. I was going to rage against it.
When we began our final descent into Portland, it was still daylight. We’d been travelling with the time zones in our favour, making Wednesday stretch like melted mozzarella. I’d taken advantage of having a bed and made sure I got enough rest. I hoped Johan was sitting up in his executive seat and getting a crick in his neck, not able to sleep a wink in case I tried something. That offered a little satisfaction. I buckled in for the landing. As I watched the ground get closer, it dawned on me that I had been so caught up with strategies for escape that I had given little thought to the reason for Johan’s visit. He had said something about family time. None of my family lived here and I thought Alex was his only relative.
Only relative who acknowledged him, I corrected.
But Alex’s dad, Johan’s brother, was last heard of in South America, wasn’t he? Maybe we were catching another flight. Johan was covering his tracks.
Don’t get taken aboard another plane, I told myself. At least here you speak the same language. Going south will not improve your situation.
Wheels touched down.
Johan entered the cabin. ‘Right, Misty. Same deal as before and this time I hope you are convinced of the futility of shouting for help?’
I nodded.
‘I’ll just speak with the immigration authorities then we’ll be out of here. Something of a drive ahead, I’m afraid.’
So at least we weren’t catching another plane.
‘OK.’
He took out a new set of ties. ‘If you don’t mind.’
Of course I minded. I held up my wrists.
‘This gift of yours—it’s pretty awesome.’ I wondered if flattery would get him to spill a few more hints about how it worked.
‘Thank you, my dear. I’ve found it useful.’ He gently tugged the ties and I got up. ‘People just don’t see what I want to blank out. I’m like the invisible man, except I can make others disappear too. You can’t imagine what that has allowed me to do over the years in my long search.’ He opened the cabin door.
‘Feeling better, Mr Smith?’ asked Hebe, hovering in the aisle.
Johan rubbed his stomach. ‘Just a touch of something. I feel much better already.’ So that was how he explained his frequent trips into the cabin.
But he was lying. That gave me the first chink. I purposely let go of my control. It was like letting go of your breath after holding it in for as long as possible: instant relief.
‘I hope it wasn’t something you ate?’ Hebe handed him a briefcase.
He opened his mouth to say it was exactly that but instead out came, ‘No, I just had someone to check on in the cabin.’ He looked shocked at what he had admitted.
Hebe’s face registered her confusion.
Johan quickly raised another topic. ‘Well then, I’ll see you next time I fly. Saturday.’
His odd remark was replaced by thoughts of giving the company script to a frequent flyer. ‘Indeed, sir, it will be my pleasure to see you on board again. You are a most undemanding passenger.’ Hebe frowned, surprised that she had admitted this.
Johan’s grip on my wrist tightened painfully. He had worked out who was to blame. ‘See you then. Goodbye.’
He pulled me with him out of the plane. The air outside was like a dash of cold water in the face.
‘One more trick like that and I’ll be forced to kill,’ he hissed.
‘You’re going to kill me anyway,’ I replied stubbornly.
‘I meant I’d have to kill that stewardess and the pilot. Do you want that on your conscience?’
Like this was my fault? I wasn’t the one doing the kidnapping here.
A black limo waited at the bottom of the steps. Johan opened the rear door and pushed me inside.
‘To the terminal building, please,’ he ordered the chauffeur.
As at Stansted, VIPs did not have to queue with ordinary people. Johan left me in the car as he went to complete his immigration papers. He tied my plastic handcuffs to the door handle. I hoped for a brief moment that I would still be able to appeal to the chauffeur but he got out and accompanied Johan across the sidewalk into the terminal building, hand tucked in his jacket in an armed-and-dangerous stance, giving away that he acted as bodyguard as well as driver.
But Johan had left his briefcase.
I scuffed it closer with my feet, straining to hitch it up from the floor to the seat. When it touched my thigh, I bent over it and used my chin to scoop it onto my lap—not an easy move. Sweating with fear that I would be discovered, I glanced over to the terminal. Johan was close, just the other side of the glass chatting with the official, giving every impression of being a relaxed, innocent traveller. There was very little give in my hands, but by jiggling the case, I managed to get the front clasps within reach. This would all be for nothing if he had set the combination. Click—the first clasp sprang up. Click—then the second. I lifted the lid, shoving my fingers in the gap. It was nearly empty, just a few sheets and photos inside. I quickly scanned the ones on the top. The photo showed a family outside a blue house with a white fence: a couple and a son who looked about my age or a little younger. He had a baseball cap on so I couldn’t make much out about his face but the father was distinctly familiar—a mixture of Johan and Alex. Roger. It had to be Alex’s dad. So that was Alex’s mother—the pale-faced woman with a haunted expression and long brown hair. So maybe the boy was another son? From what Alex had told me he didn’t even know he had a brother.
The top sheet of paper was from a private detective agency and gave an address and map. A street in a place called Florence, Oregon. From the map I could see that it was on the Pacific coast. I now knew where we were going but no idea why Johan thought I should be along for the ride. He already knew what his brother thought of him; there had never been any lying there. This was no friendly holiday get-together.
A quick look up and I saw time was running out. Johan and the bodyguard were heading back to the car. I closed and fastened the briefcase, then kicked it back to roughly where he had left it. Now all I had to do was look innocent.
Johan got back in the car. He glanced once at the briefcase to check it was in place but, if he thought it had shifted, he appeared not to connect it with me. He rapped on the window between us and the driver; the limo began to move. With a satisfied huff, he pulled the case onto his knee, opened it and put his passport inside. I noticed that it was an American one. I suppose that identity fraud was nothing to a man with his talents. He might even have American citizenship for all I knew. If I was to an
‘Uncle Johan, where are we headed?’ I made myself as trusting as I could manage without my gift defeating me.
‘I’ve invited myself to my brother’s for Thanksgiving.’
‘Does he know I’m coming?’
Johan chuckled. ‘He doesn’t know I am coming so he certainly doesn’t know about you. If he were a decent man, he would be interested in his son and the people in his son’s life, but there you are: that’s Roger du Plessis for you.’
And that measured up against killing how exactly? I bit back the acerbic comment.
‘So you want to convince him to change his mind about Alex?’ Please let it be something as innocent as that.
Johan curled his lips in distaste. ‘He doesn’t deserve a second chance with his son. He abandoned a three-year-old: that is all you need to know about my brother. My own parents were so proud of him; I bet they would’ve cheered him doing even something like that to his own flesh and blood.’
‘It was very cruel of Alex’s parents.’ I could at least agree with him on that.
‘Roger is just like our father: a cold-hearted, prejudiced man. It’s time he was shaken out of his complacency. He thinks he rules his family but really he’s never understood the first thing about it.’
‘And you’re what? Going to shatter that complacency?’
Johan shook his head. ‘No, my dear, you are.’
The car skimmed over the miles of freeway, soon shrugging off the suburbs of Portland and out onto the open road. I bit my fingernail as I gazed out at the fields, woods and hills of Oregon. It was beautiful in its winter dress of leafless trees and frosted grass.