Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I push past the flight attendant, and another one steps up to stop me. “Miss, you need to take a seat.”
“I don’t think you understand. I’m not staying on this plane. So, you need to let me off.”
“We can’t—”
“I have to go!” I shout and push past the second flight attendant and head toward the galley area where the exit door is located. “Keep that open!” I shout as I see two airport staff in neon vests beginning to close it. “I have to get out! I can’t be on this plane!”
“Miss, sit down right now!” the lead flight attendant yells. I’m pretty sure I’m officially a security threat, but there’s no turning back now. I am once again Rachel Green, and I have to get off this plane!
“I’m sorry!” I shout over my shoulder. “I know this is crazy, but I can’t be here! I made a mistake, but now I’m fixing it, and I don’t have the ten hours it’ll take me to fly there and back to waste!” The cords of my throat strain, and tears sting my eyes. My voice sounds hoarse even to my own ears, and I know why. My adrenaline is preparing to crash—right into reality.
Surprisingly, the passengers take up in my favor, siding with me and appealing to the attendants.
“Just let her off!”
“Yeah! Just let her off the plane! It’s fine!”
“She’s obviously upset!”
“Everyone needs to calm down and stay seated.” The flight attendant tries to calm the crowd.
“Just let her off!” more people start to shout.
“She’s crying! Let the poor girl off the plane!”
I reach up to my face to feel that, yes, indeed, tears are streaming unchecked down the surface of my skin.
“Please, please,” I plead with the staff from my spot in the galley. “Just open it a little bit and let me out.”
“We need security! Call for security!”
“Yes! Yes! Get security!” I agree. “They need to escort me off this plane.”
At this point, I don’t care if I’m blacklisted from flying. One way or another, I have to get off this fucking plane.
Ty
“What do you mean, you can’t tell me who’s on the flight? This is a case of love or death,” I beg the woman holding court at the gate for American Airlines, the sponsor of JFK’s last and only flight to LAX for the evening.
When I left Rachel’s sister’s bakery, I drove to JFK as fast as I could. There’s a small chance I’m at the wrong airport altogether, but based on years and years of knowing her sister, Lydia was fairly confident this was the way to go. My brothers and sister and I have the same kind of intuition about one another; I’ve experienced it many times. I’d bet a whole lot of important shit on the sibling relationship—and frankly, knowing that finding Rachel or not will change the course of my life forever…I have.
I still have no idea if Rachel is on this plane, but fuck, I’m here because I have this unshakable feeling that I’m right. I can’t give up now; I can’t just walk away.
“Sir, I have to maintain the privacy of my passengers.”
“You don’t understand. I don’t need to know anything—anything—other than if Rachel Rose is on that plane or not. You don’t even have to tell me if you can’t…I don’t know, just blink twice if you see her name or something. Anything—”
“I know you’re upset, sir, and I’m really, truly sorry,” she consoles, looking at me with an unbelievable amount of humanity. If I were on the other end of this exchange, I’m not sure I’d be able to do the same. “But I can’t give you that information. It’s strictly prohibited by both FAA regulations and the law.”
Fuck!
I turn away from the counter brusquely and pace outside of the ropes that lead to the counter, unsure of what to do. I’ve called and texted Rachel no fewer than a hundred times, but it’s no use. She’s radio silent, not taking my calls, not answering, not even letting me know if she’s okay, and it’s fucking killing me.
I need to see her, to talk to her—to make this right however I can.
If I can’t stop her before she goes, I’m going to have to go to LA myself and find her there.
Newly determined, I charge back up to the counter to beg, steal, and barter my way onto a flight to LA tomorrow morning if I have to, when the radio sitting on the counter next to the attendant squawks loudly with a call for security. Two people in uniforms come running past us, straight for the door that leads to this jetway.
What the hell?
At first, I’m just confused, but then, panic starts to slowly seep into my pores.
What if something has happened to Rachel? What if she’s really on that flight and something is wrong?