Flight 19 part ii, p.13
Flight 19, Part II, page 13
When he arrived at the destination, he pulled up and stepped out of his car.
Tim held his hands up over his glasses, shielding his eyes from the bright sun overhead.
It had been decades since he was last here. Tim had forgotten how desolate and lonely the place was.
Vernon wasn’t famous for its cafes, nightlife, or any tourist attractions you could post on Instagram or Facebook.
It had been abandoned over a century ago. Any sign of human life had gone with the people.
Tim walked away from his car for a bit.
In the distance, he heard an eagle or some sort of large bird squawk, high in the sky. Other than this, he could neither see nor hear any sign of life.
He started to wonder if coming all the way out here had been a good idea, and to hope there wasn’t a highly skilled marksman sitting on top of a hill a few hundred feet away, with his scope trained on the middle of the back of Tim’s head. He knew this was a thing that happened from time to time, and hoped it wasn’t his turn yet.
After a couple more minutes, he felt the uneasy urge to get back in his car and just sit it out. He decided to turn the car around so he could see the landscape he had come from, hoping that if someone was coming, he’d see the dust trail on the dirt road from some distance away.
An hour later, Tim wondered what the hell he was doing there. He’d seen no one coming up from the road from Lovelock, the only way in and out of Vernon, as far as he knew.
He was busting for a visit to the toilet too.
Knowing he was probably the only person around for twenty or so miles, he ventured out of his car and, strangely, went to the rear bumper bar and had a quick pee on the dirt nearby. He wasn’t sure why he chose there, but he did.
As he was about to get back into his car and curse the whole stupid idea of coming all the way here, the hairs on the back of his head stood on end. That feeling of being watched came from nowhere, but he couldn’t shake it.
He turned up to his left. In the distance, he knew there was another abandoned town over that way, some ten minutes up the dirt road. It was known as Tunnel Camp.
He was about to turn away and open his car door when his eyes latched onto something in that direction.
It was the sun catching itself on something bright, like a mirror. It sort of flashed at Tim, and it made his heart skip a beat.
There was only one thing to do: get up there and take a look.
Ten minutes later, he drove into Tunnel Camp.
Unlike Vernon, there were the remnants of around six to ten buildings of different sizes and shapes, shacks, assorted sizes of machinery, and cars, probably a little too old for restoration. The Powerhouse, as it was known, was the largest building among the scattering of abandoned dwellings. Tim decided to look there first. He was instantly disappointed.
No mirror. No one.
He found the same in the shacks and smaller outbuildings.
The wind picked up from time to time, and only added to his frustration by serving him an entrée of fine sand and warmer air.
He was starting to feel like a real idiot, like this was just a stupid goose chase and someone was taking him for a ride.
Tim ventured back to his car, cursing louder to himself as the afternoon sun continued to crawl across the pale blue sky.
He took his bottle of water out of the car and decided to rest in the shade of the Powerhouse, where the large red brick walls would take some of the heat from the air. Once he felt he was rested enough, he’d consider driving back home to Alameda directly from here. A night at the Vagabond Inn, under David Bowie’s personally designed bed cover, was not something he was now feeling really up to, thanks to this blowout of an afternoon.
“You stupid old fool,” Tim said, sitting dejected on a pile of rubble inside the Powerhouse. He stared outside through the empty window frame and added, “What were you goddamned thinking?”
Tim took a long drink of water from his bottle.
A second later, Tim nearly shat his pants and sent water from the bottle all over his face and clothes as he lurched with fright.
“You’ve never been a stupid fool,” the voice said calmly from the darkest corner of the ruined building.
“Tammy!” Lee, sitting glued to her TV, shouted to her best friend, who was in her room doing chores.
Tammy dropped what she was doing and came straight away.
Before Lee could say another word, Tammy was sitting on the armrest on the couch right next to her.
Both women watched the screen.
“And in other news,” the anchorman said directly into his nearest camera, “we have new developments in the ongoing saga of Pacific Airlines Flight 19.”
Tammy and Lee met each other’s eyes for a second before turning their gazes back to the large screen.
An image of the Pacific Airlines A380 appeared behind the newsreader with the words “Flight 19 Mystery” added artistically below.
“Charles Lewinson, husband of Flight 19 survivor Melanie Lewinson, died suddenly last night in his hometown of Sydney, Australia.”
Tammy managed a muted “Oh, my god.”
“Reports from local sources at the scene have spoken of an altercation with another man shortly before Mr. Lewinson fell to his death from the balcony of a famous Irish bar in Sydney’s Rocks district.”
Tammy’s heart sank. She immediately thought of Tony. She’d spoken to him only the day before, and knew he was back in Sydney with Ross. She put her hand up to her mouth, and a second later could feel a wave of emotion overcome her.
Lee turned to her friend and said, “Oh, Tammy. Come, sit.”
Tammy fell off the armchair and rolled to a stop next to Lee.
Before either of them could say anything, the anchorman had more.
“And it doesn’t end there. We have received reports earlier this afternoon that the wife of billionaire Flight 19 passenger Michael E. Darcy passed away from complications arising from a sudden stroke in another Australian city…” He checked his notes and knew no matter how many times he’d rehearsed the city’s name before the broadcast, he’d still get it wrong.
“Mell-born.” He cursed himself. It didn’t sound right, but he had no choice to move on.
“Some are calling it…” He took a breath, the producer upstairs cursing his name aloud for the one-second delay. “…the curse of Flight 19. Or in short, the Flight 19 effect.”
Tammy sat forward and put her head in her hands.
Everything was going to shit. None of this had happened when they’d landed in 2024.
What her heart really ached for was Tony. She wanted him by her side right here, right now.
Then Tammy thought of Darcy. She hadn’t gotten to know him that well, but Melanie had spoken highly of him. She wondered how he was going and what he was having to deal with himself.
Lee rose from the couch and silently moved into the kitchen. Tammy could hear her open the fridge, and a moment later the chink of a couple of wine glasses held in one hand.
Lee sat down next to her and poured her a wine. Tammy quietly thanked her as the news cut to an ad break. Lee reached for the remote and switched off the TV.
“Tony will be fine,” Lee said, putting her hand on Tammy’s shoulder. “I’m sure of it.” Tammy sat back on the couch and wiped tears from her eyes.
“The curse of Flight 19,” she said out loud, taking a drink of her wine. “I wish I was never on that damn flight.”
Lee stared out the window of her apartment in inner-city St. Louis. She wondered what it would have been like to be a passenger on the Pacific Airlines flight.
Tammy muttered something, though Lee thought for a second that she was hearing things.
She peered over to Tammy and said, “What did you just say?”
Tammy almost froze in surprise, a look of shock appearing on her face a second later.
“Ah, no—thing,” Tammy said in a near whisper.
Lee put her glass down on the nearby coffee table and sat upright. She stared intently at Tammy.
“What did you just say?” she repeated.
Like the universe was trying to help Tammy out, Lee’s mobile rang not a second later. Lee reached for it and could tell it was from an overseas number. She knew it had to be Tony. She handed the still-ringing phone over to Tammy, who gladly took it, jumping up to answer as if doing so would let her off the hook with Lee.
“Hello?” Tammy said excitedly.
It was Tony.
Lee watched Tammy talking on her phone. Her friend was clearly over the moon to hear from him.
But Lee could not stop thinking about what Tammy had just said a few moments ago. The sentence continued to replay in her head.
“This didn’t happen when we landed in 2024.”
Lee wondered what that meant.
She wouldn’t let Tammy off the hook until she found out.
Emily struggled to rein in her excitement.
She’d hadn’t been to the Venice Whaler for years. It was one of her favorite places on Venice Beach to have a couple of drinks and a bite to eat, especially on a day like today, with the late morning sun melting over the beach, a slight sea breeze coming in off the Pacific Ocean, and the place buzzing with a chilled vibe. The decision to meet Todd there for lunch was the best she’d made all week.
She was close to fifteen minutes early, so—what the hell—she ordered her favorite cocktail, the Whaler’s Famous Margarita, along with chowder fries. She’d die of thirst if she had to wait, and a drink would calm her nerves. Those two reasons alone were good enough for her.
“Ah ha,” Todd said, striding up to the bar table all smiles, “I see someone was thirsty.” He planted a kiss on her cheek, making her blush. Then he whispered in her ear, “The next one will be on your lips.”
He waltzed off to the bar and minutes later came back with a pint of beer. He sat down and checked out his surroundings. “I love this place. I used to drink here most weekends.”
“You have no idea how much I have missed you, babe.” She could feel the rush of her emotions coming to a boil.
Todd reached over and placed his hand on hers. “I’ve counted down the hours, honey. I barely slept last night with excitement.”
For two further rounds of drinks, they sat together and talked about anything that didn’t involve time travel or the years 2019 or 2024. They kept it light and very fluffy, their conversation straight-out cotton candy. If anyone nearby cared to listen, they’d have soon grown bored of the mindless banter.
Not long after Todd arrived, he had typed out a message on his phone—to Emily.
And rather than sending it, letting it end up in the telecommunications cloud for someone to access later, he just handed his phone to her. She read it and then deleted it. Simple, really.
“We’ll talk about the serious stuff later when we go for a walk on the beach,” the message said. “I don’t want to do it here. By the way, you look smoking hot today. I love you xx.”
Eventually, after polishing off a fourth round of drinks, the couple agreed a walk on the famous Venice Beach would be a good idea to stretch the legs and work off the alcohol and food.
When they reached an area of sand where no one else was in earshot, Todd held Emily’s hand just that little bit tighter.
“I told Dad I know about Jason,” he said without preamble.
“Jesus Christ.” She seemed shocked by the revelation. “You wasted no time.” She stopped walking and said, “Do you think it was wise to do it so soon?”
Todd’s face twisted with anger, though he ensured she knew it wasn’t directed at her. “I just can’t play happy families anymore,” he said.
“Dad seemed really angry about it when I told him.”
He met Emily’s worried eyes before once again checking no one was walking too close to them.
“I’ve got to find him, Em,” he whispered.
Emily was clearly surprised by this, but even more so by what he said next.
“You haven’t told your dad anything, right?”
Emily felt like Todd had slapped her in the face. She stepped back and took her hand away from his.
Todd realized what he’d just done. He stepped closer to her and said, “Sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to check.”
Emily looked to her left, then her right, and started to walk slowly off along the water line. Todd followed her, and when he caught up, said, “Em, I’m sorry; I was just curious.”
She stopped walking, clearly upset with his call on her trust.
“Coming from the guy that came straight out and told his father he knows about his illegitimate son?” She shot him a filthy look. “Really?”
Emily walked another three or four feet before spinning around and speaking through near-gritted teeth. “And you want to know if I’ve told Dad anything?” She stepped closer to him again. “No. I haven’t told him anything. Just tell me you’re not going to look for Jason anytime soon. I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.”
Todd seemed lost in his thoughts for a second, then snapped out of it and said with confidence, “I won’t.”
If Dr. Phil had been watching the goings on between the two of them from the comfort of his studio armchair, he’d be shaking his beautiful bald head from side to side.
They’d both just lied through their teeth to each other.
Chapter Twenty-One
Tim stumbled to his feet.
His water bottle flew out of his hands, and half the water went with it. The sixty-seven-year-old slipped awkwardly on the sandy floor and nearly fell flat on his backside.
Ben slipped out of the shadows and took a few steps forward.
Tim was trying to speak, though the words were stuck in his mouth.
“B—en?” eventually spluttered out, though by the time the name left his lips, the three letters were a mere whisper.
His only son slowly walked over to him. Dressed in designer jeans, a white polo t-shirt and smart-looking casual shoes, he looked like he’d just left a photo shoot for a men’s lifestyle magazine.
“You have no idea how good it is to see you, old man,” Ben said.
Tim reached for him and the two men embraced.
But only for a second. Tim pushed him back and said rather bluntly, “What in God’s name is going on?”
Ben glanced at his watch. He’d allowed ample time to talk to his old man before being picked up.
He stepped away from Tim and ventured back to where he’d been hiding.
He pulled some items from the corner before turning to Tim and smiling. “Come on, then, give me a hand with this stuff.”
Tim walked to the corner of the building and realized Ben had brought, strangely, a couple of fold-up chairs, along with a medium-sized cooler box. Wow, Tim thought, the guy had come prepared, alright.
“Follow me,” Ben said.
Tim took possession of the chairs, while Ben carried the cooler box. Ben seemed to know where he was heading, and Tim knew his son had always been this way. From the earliest time, he’d seemed to know what to do next. Today was no different.
Ben walked outside and to a shaded area nearby, motioning for his old man to hurry up and bring the chairs already.
When Tim unfolded his, he sat back and took a moment to enjoy the breathtaking view of mountain ranges to both sides, with a wide valley between them stretching as far as the horizon many miles away. The midday sun heated the air, but it was still cool enough to be comfortable in the shade.
Both Erwins had spent their fair share of time in Nevada. And for a time, both of them had actually lived in the state, though never permanently. The tourist mecca there had always been the bright lights of Las Vegas, and would certainly remain that way. But for father and son, now sitting within the ruins of Tunnel Camp, the desert wilderness of the Nevada high country was what they’d always preferred. It was peaceful, tranquil, and, in a few places, private.
Ben reached into the cooler box, and pulled out two chilled Budweisers.
He handed one to Tim before twisting off the lid of his own and looking into the vast openness.
Tim had been watching him the whole time.
“I guess I owe you one hell of an explanation,” Ben said.
Tim took a deep breath and shook his head.
“That’s the understatement of the year, my boy.”
The corners of Ben’s lips curled.
“I guess you need to figure out which year, Dad,” he said.
Andrew Roberts carried the weight of his conscience squarely on his broad shoulders. He sat at his desk, lost in his own world of thoughts, staring at a photo of Todd and Kylie from a family get-together a few years ago. Todd towered over his wife just like he did, and she couldn’t have looked any prouder of their son. And the problem for Andrew was—he’d always been immensely proud of his son on multiple levels. The first time Todd rode out of the California Highway Patrol depot on his maiden patrol, Andrew nearly wept. Todd following in his footsteps was something he’d carried with enormous pride.
But that was before Flight 19.
First, he lost Todd for nearly two and a half years. Andrew was shattered when the plane disappeared. It took him close to twelve months before he could bring himself to clear out Todd’s locker at the depot. No one pushed him to do it. His co-workers could see the pain etched in his face every day when he came to work. He decided to start a small support group for other parents in Los Angeles who had lost children from the disappearance. It had helped him, and he felt it had helped many of the other parents too. They met the first Wednesday of every month. He wondered if they would meet next month. Even if the meeting was going ahead, he wasn’t sure if he felt like attending. Things had changed. And the fact was simple—his son was back.
This was the second thing he was trying to come to terms with.
Todd.
Back in the flesh.
Andrew had mourned his passing, and with Kylie by his side, suffered through the pitch-black haze of loss.
