3.7 The Abyss of WonderLand
I was reassuring myself that flight was safe when the extremely noisy engine suddenly got quiet. Engine failure. I knew that right off. I’d seen it happen in a movie once. But I didn’t say anything. I just looked around the cabin and observed that everyone else was watching a movie, reading a book, or had their eyes closed and were relaxing. It was only me that seem all bits and pieces of frazzled. I realized then that I’d been gripping Timothy’s hand, holding on as if he could save me in case something went wrong. I suppose he could, but that was something else I didn’t want to think about. I released him, said, “sorry,” and started inspecting the pocket in front of my seat. I pulled out the magazine the attendant had mentioned, then flipped through the pages. There were things to buy, a drink page, and a picture of our flight path. I stared at that the longest. In fact, I was concentrating on it so hard, I wasn’t ready when a stewardess came by to ask what I’d like to drink. “She wants a bottle of water,” Timothy said and asked for one for himself. When I flipped back to drinks, I saw exotic things like cranberry juice. I’d never had that. I guess Timothy saw my wistfulness. He called the lady back and said, “I was wrong, my fiancé wants something else in addition to the water.” I think the stewardess was about to say something about having a lot of passengers to tend, but she didn’t. One look at Timothy’s smile, and she melted. “What would you like, ma’am?” she asked me. Ma’am? That was a first. I hadn’t really decided, but I chose the cranberry juice. It sounded interesting. The woman poured it into a little plastic glass. The juice was an absolutely gorgeous color, exactly like the rug in Timothy’s living room. I started to thank the stewardess, but she’d already moved on, handing out drinks and snacks right and left.
3.6 The Abyss of WonderLand
Timothy was holding my hand. I think he was trying to give me support for the ordeal, but I was suddenly glued to the window, watching the ground as we sped along and then lifted up into the sky. It wasn’t that bad, not like floating in air or jumping off a bridge or something, because we were sitting in our comfy seats and nicely safety belted in, which made me feel kind of protected. I was doing all right until I heard an even louder noise underneath us. I knew it couldn’t be cargo still being loaded since we were already up in the air. I glanced at Timothy, not wanting to show my panic, but really, really uncertain about how things were going. “Are we okay?” I asked, biting my lip. “They’re retracting the wheels, Penelope. Everything is normal.” But then the wings started making noise like they were about to fall off. That was even more worrisome. Timothy told me that the wings were doing what they were supposed to be doing. He seemed extraordinarily calm about it. That’s when it hit me that I was turning into what my grandmother used to call a Nervous Nelly. I should just close my eyes and ignore everything. It wasn’t like I could save the plane if something went wrong. I suddenly wished that I could pray for our safety, but that ship had long ago sailed with my parents’ death and years later, my grandmother’s cancer, followed by her death. Any faith I’d ever had evaporated like puddled water when the sun comes out. I suppose I could excuse my fear by repeating that it was my first time on a plane and the fact that there were so many alarming noises, but who would listen to such excuses? The other passengers looked relaxed. Timothy was calm. The guys behind us were chatting about things to see in San Diego. No worry there.
3.5 The Abyss of WonderLand
I was leaning back against the lounge chair seat, when the most horrible noise roared. It was louder than a lawnmower or a garden blower, or perhaps the two combined. “Relax. It’s just the engine revving up,” Timothy said, patting my hand. “I have a tranquilizer tablet if she needs one,” Bob said in a harsh whisper. “Do you want one?” Timothy asked me. “Not unless the plane is going to crash, and you said it wouldn’t.” I was careful to whisper that very quietly into Timothy’s eat because someone had once told me that it was illegal to say the word crash at an airport. I tried to ignore the smoke coming out from the engine, but Timothy must have felt my panic. “It’s supposed to do that,” he said with a soothing voice. (I was lucky that he hadn’t decided to pitch me out of the plane by then. I was turning into a real basket case.) I thought we’d hit the noisiest part of the whole process, but I was wrong. The engines began to rumble and scream like angry dragons. And the whole plane began to vibrate. It was like sitting on top of a clothes dryer — not that I’d ever done that. At some point, we finally started down the runway, bumpety, bumpety bump bump. I wondered why the plane didn’t have better shocks on their wheels. But maybe the runway just wasn’t smooth. Wouldn’t that be hard on the tires? A plane did have tires, right? The lift off was scarier than getting up on a horse, except with an increase of noise, a tooth-jarring vibration, and a steady forward propulsion. I think it was what an astronaut might feel, being shoved back against the seat, and crushed by the pressure.
3.4 The Abyss of WonderLand
The male flight attendant who had escorted us to our seats stood up and demonstrated air bags. Duh. Like we couldn’t figure that one out? Still, I checked to make sure my forward pocket had one. Better to be sure than empty-handed in dire circumstances. The attendant placed the barf bag down and then carefully explained how to buckle our safety belts, (like we didn’t use them every day in our automobiles?) He demonstrated the quick release button, so I tried that out. Mine worked. So did the side buttons on my seat and the footrest. The stew spoke a moment about the magazine each pocket contained. I’d already seen that while searching for the barf bag. Next the man explained about the plane’s exits and how we were forbidden from carrying our bags with us if we needed to get off the plane quickly. “Why would we need to exit quickly?” I asked Timothy. “Wouldn’t we be up in the air?” “Sh,” Timothy said, and I realized then that the flight attendant had overheard me. “Do we have a first timer?” the man asked. Timothy nodded, so the man carefully repeated that it was only in case of fire. Then he went on to assure us that such a thing wasn’t likely. I still didn’t understand how exiting midflight would help us, but I kept quiet after that. The attendant continued as if there’d been no interruption. His canned speech discussed a slide that would pop out if we needed it at landing and oxygen masks that would drop down if the cabin pressure changed. He said some other things about opening the exits, and safety tips for emergencies, but I’d had heard more than I wanted to hear and tuned him out. Honestly, the more the man talked, the more nervous about flying I became. He finally stopped lecturing, and a really pretty stewardess walked down the aisle to check seat belts. I’d fastened mine the moment we got onboard, which is what I always did in a vehicle. She stopped at our seats to chide Timothy for not having his strap buckled. He sighed heartily and obediently fastened his. He also put the divider down between us. Was that a safety thing, too?
3.3 The Abyss of WonderLand
I’d heard that seats were crowded and uncomfortable on airplanes, but when we arrived at ours, I found them to be fancy and plush. I sat down in my designated seat, the one next to the window and admired everything around me. I was puzzling over the roominess and the elegance of everything, which seemed so contradictory to all I’d heard, when I discovered that we were flying first class. Terry and Bob had seats directly behind us. I learned their names only after we were already seated. We didn’t shake hands because we were buckled in by then, but I twisted my neck and smiled at them. I was pleased when they smiled back. No grouches were accompanying us. Big plus. Terry was the one with hair so fair it was almost white. He resembled a picture I’d seen of a Viking warrior. Bob had black hair and looked like he might have Japanese heritage. Both were in their thirties, tall and well-muscled, and they were each attractive enough that I’d seen women eyeing them out in the waiting area. Our seating arrangement was two seats next to each other, although I saw that the section on Timothy’s other side were single seats with screens around them. I liked our configuration better and was thrilled that Timothy had given me the window seat. It seemed more secure than being out in the open, which I realize is a completely irrational thought. (But, I’d once heard that people liked the front seat of a plane because they figured they’d get to their destination first, which was an equally bizarre idea.) Anyway, I’d be able look out the window and see the ground. I hoped I’d be brave enough to do so. When my friends and I rode amusement rides, I always kept my eyes tightly shut until the ride was over. Seeing the speed and angle our little car was going seemed only to make the ride scarier. I suddenly heard a loud bang. I gasped, thinking that the plane was already collapsing, even though we hadn’t gotten off the ground yet. Timothy reassured me that it was a sign that the cargo had been loaded, and the bin doors were being shut. Explanations really helped to steady nerves, I decided.
3.2 The Abyss of WonderLand
The two guys nodded to him and then to me. Both men had backpacks over their suits and acted like they’d done all this before. My legs were shaking, and I didn’t have a passport. I tried to tell Timothy that, but he was walking too fast. I tugged on his arm. “I don’t have a passport,” I said, trying to stop his forward propulsion. Timothy smiled. “Yes, you do, darling. I ordered one for you the moment I met you. It’s always wise to stay ahead of necessity.” That was impossible. Peggy, one of the secretaries at the office, had been filling out forms, getting her pictures, and setting up an appointment to get her passport for her upcoming vacation in Paris. She’d complained daily about how difficult and time consuming the process was. I started to say something, but Timothy pulled out a passport from his breast pocket and handed it to me. “Here, you go. This one will work until we change your name to mine, which I hope happens soon.” I halted completely to give myself time to study the passport. It had a picture of me and all the right information. How could that be? “I don’t have a driver’s license either,” I added, regretting the fact as I always did. Timothy pulled an envelope out of the same pocket. “Here. You’re a lot of work, my darling girl, but you’re worth it.” We boarded at the end of a big mob. Timothy showed his phone, which seemed to hold all four of our tickets, then, holding my elbow, he guided me forward after I’d flashed my two very new and very fake ID’s. (Yes, I was half expecting the alarms to go off, or for a stewardess to say, “Definitely not. These are counterfeits.”) It was only later that I realized how many laws I’d broken. How many years in jail would they sentence me to? Would Timothy hire an attorney for me? Would Mr. Sanders rue the day he hired me? We were walking through a long tunnel while I was doing all my worrying about what could have happened if . . . so I hardly noticed our approach to the big plane we were about to fly on, not that I could have seen it, actually, since the airline seemed very secretive, keeping the jet veiled from us. Our passage along the path was very noisy and kind of creepy. I kept wondering what the airline was hiding, and why we couldn’t just walk out on the runway and climb up into the plane. When we finally reached the plane, with the metal monster’s gaping open door, two stewardesses greeted us, rechecked Timothy’s phone for a peek at our tickets, then waved us inside. A young male flight attendant escorted us to our seats. We walked down another passageway, except this time, there were people sitting in seats on each side, some of them staring at us as if already bored with their surroundings.
3.1 The Abyss of WonderLand
The two males made a couple of phone calls, then Timothy took my hand and hurried me out the door, once more carrying my satchel. “I canceled our earlier flight and made a new one. It means that we won’t have time to do much when we get to San Diego today, but we can take a couple more days to see the city properly. No worries.” We climbed into the usual limo, but Andrew wasn’t driving. Instead, we had a new guy named Ricardo. He had a nice smile, but was otherwise, unnoticeable: fair hair, dullish eyes, an overly pronounced nose, and a body that looked like he really needed a good meal. “Thanks for driving us,” I said, and he grunted, also lacking Andrew’s personality and renown sense of humor. “Sit back, darling. Ricardo is new and needs to concentrate on the roads. I think we may be hitting some traffic soon. It’s a little before peak time, but San Jose traffic starts early.” I relaxed back on the soft leather, admiring it as I always did. The smell of saddlery and whatever they used to clean it stroked my nose pleasantly. I inhaled and smiled at Timothy. “That golf man isn’t going to follow us on our trip to the airport, right?” Timothy squeezed my hand. “I don’t know, Penelope, but if he does, it will be taken care of. Ricardo has had training for that. He knows how to avoid someone who decides to invade our privacy.” I was getting really excited about our trip. The number of times I’d been on an airplane: zero. I mentioned that to Timothy, and he shook his head and made a noise with an unidentifiable meaning. “What?” I laughed. “I’m sure there’s lots of people who’ve never flown before.” “I know of only one,” Timothy said, dotting a kiss on my forehead. “Will you be afraid?” “No. I know that theoretically, planes are safer in the air than cars are on the freeway. It’s only the take-off and landing that rank as dangerous. Except, even though I know a little bit about aerodynamics, a plane is so much heavier than a bird. It makes no sense that it could open its doors for a hundred people and then lift both its metal body and all those people into the air.” “If something happened to our plane, my darling, I’d shape change and fly you down to the ground. You have nothing to fear.” The idea of Timothy shape changing into some gigantic bird with me in his claws didn’t ease my anxiety. It probably just added to it. But I didn’t say anything. Despite the traffic, Ricardo oozed us along faster than I would have expected. We’d arrived at the San Jose Airport in less than half an hour. As we walked in, two burly guys stepped forward. “I have the QR codes for all four of us,” Timothy told them. “You have your passports and driver’s licenses?”
2.28 The Abyss of WonderLand
“Yes, I’d already figured on that, even before this man reared his intrusive head,” Timothy said. “They’re seated right behind us.” As if that was some kind of signal, I immediately glanced behind us, but there was no one there. I felt silly, realizing that Timothy must mean on the plane, but wouldn’t anyone have turned to look? “If he follows you, we’ll know who it is he suspects. If he stays here, it’s me he’s investigating,” Andrew said, his attention suddenly on me, as if to determine why I’d gotten so fidgety. “I thought we were safe here,” I said, worrying that the media had traced me here and that I might be the cause of Timothy and Andrew’s fresh trouble. “We have protectors, Penelope. Stop distressing. I won’t risk something happening to you. Not after that incident at the club.” The nightclub? I’d already forgotten about that. “That was just a drug addict wanting money. We shouldn’t have been walking that way, I guess. Although we handled ourselves well.” “Yes. Andrew, that reminds me. Set up a karate instructor for Penelope a week from today. She has some skills, but I want her black belted.” “Whoa, that’s . . .” A kiss sealed my lips. I breathed in deeply when that ended, once again fighting speedy heart-thumps, but this time, not from fear. My first thought was to object to Timothy’s dictatorship over the lesson, then my mind rebelled at the fact that he’d thought I’d still be here in a week. Two lovely arguments, but instead I demanded, “Who is Lillea?” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, discretion should be something that came with age, but this time it was actually Timothy’s fault for robbing me of my inhibitions with his latest kiss. “That’s Andrew’s latest girlfriend,” Timothy said with a big grin. “Is she Fae?” I probed, eyeing Andrew like that would provide clues. “Not my secret,” Andrew supplied with a curious half-smile that was sexy as heck — if I’d been interested, that is.
2.27 The Abyss of WonderLand
“The guy we talked about, the golfing one who kept straying too close to your property, has journalist credentials. He isn’t employed by any of the big sites, but he’s a freelance agent who is currently writing a book called The Supernaturals Walking Among Us.” I gasped. “How do you know that? I mean how do you know about the name of his book?” Andrew smiled at me. “Penelope, you will soon learn that there is little that money cannot ferret out of the cosmos.” “What?” I laughed, then realized he was absolutely serious. “Buy, how could this man have found out about you, about both of you? It’s not like you go around announcing it to the public, right?” “Calm down, my darling. We have dealt with such problems before. There are always people who hunt for oddities. Mistakes happen. Even the most convoluted machinations can be unraveled with the skills of an expert.” Timothy looked over at Andrew. “Is this man an expert or just a lucky amateur?” Andrew sighed loudly. “I think he’s the real deal. He has exposed certain dealings of the drug world. It’s amazing he’s still alive after that, but it proves that he’s not only wily, but that his investigation skills are really good. I think he’s a problem.” I hadn’t liked being told to calm down, but Timothy was correct in that my voice had raised an octave, and I was feeling a bit faint. I concentrated on breathing in deeply and letting go of some of the tension. But my heart was doing the tom-tom beat of a drum player on speed again. What would happen if Timothy and Andrew were revealed? Would NASA come for them, or scientists in white coats, or . . . But they said they’d dealt with problems like this before. How? Would they kill someone who threatened their existence? “One moment, Andrew,” Timothy said, then he pulled me closer and whispered into my ear. “You have nothing to fear, my darling. We have people who deal with this sort of thing. They don’t practice murder, unless turning someone into a vampire is considered such.” I jerked away to look at his face. “You’re joking, right?” “No. Vampires do exist, but there are other solutions we will try first. Now, relax. We can still go to San Diego.” “I’ll stay here,” Andrew said. “Lillea might be endangered. I’ll send Terry and Bob with you. Grant and Steve will patrol the property.”
2.26 The Abyss of WonderLand
“There, now this has been dealt with, what shall we do next?” I put my elbows on the table and dived into another inquisition. “Wait a minute. Tell me about the Fae. Andrew said he thought that pookas were part Fae. So can you warm up my coffee when it gets cold?” Timothy groaned. “I love you a hundred thousand levels of fervency, but it is time to change the subject, my darling, and visit the waterfall, the cake decorating room, or the horse barn . . . or we could fly down to San Diego to see the zoo. You said you wanted to do that. Another possibility is that we could go get the cat you keep talking about but haven’t made the move to get yet. Which one of those?” I considered for a moment. “If we got the cat, then we couldn’t go to the zoo. We’d be sitting around oohing and aahing about how cute the kitten was.” “Probably true. So, is it to be the San Diego Zoo?” That still seemed extravagant to me, but I nodded my head in agreement. “Okay, let’s do it. We’ll go for a couple of days. I’ll see about getting tickets out of San Jose.” “But if we fly, how will we get around? Are we going to use buses?” “Scoot,” Timothy said, “or I’ll take you to San Diego without a single change of clothing, and then we’ll have to buy everything new.” I saw that he meant it. Me, with a whole room full of Simone approved outfits. I scurried up the stairs without another word. It wasn’t twenty minutes later when Timothy stood at my door, tapping the watch on his wrist. “We need to fly so we can fly,” he said, teasingly. I picked up my bag, which he immediately took from me, and we headed downstairs, only to be met by Andrew. “There’s a problem,” Andrew told us with a poker faced-wry look, but his stance looked rigid, and his hands were clenched like he was ready to either wring someone’s neck or punch him out. We continued down the stairs. Timothy swung his arm around me and then motioned for Andrew to enter the living room. We all sat down stiffly, Timothy beside me on the dark brown, leather couch. I hadn’t been in this room much. My eyes drifted about, even though I should have been studying Andrew to understand what the problem he’d mentioned was. The patterned Oriental rug with shades exactly matching the couch plus with some delightful cranberry highlights, looked classy and expensive. I wondered if it had ever been shampooed. Could someone shampoo an expensive rug?