BY BEVERLEY BACHMANN
Copyright is held by the author.
I DIDN’T even remember getting on this plane, yet here I was sitting beside 10-year-old Victoria in the tail section of an Air Canada jet slicing through the sky, three miles above the earth. Suddenly a dark, heavy-set bearded man who, only moments ago, had been patrolling the aisles, stopped abruptly in front of us. His black eyes searched our faces, then he stooped slightly to get a better look at the pretty girl trembling beside me.
When he reached out to touch her cheek with his grubby fingers, Victoria started sobbing uncontrollably. Her crying seemed to incense the man who immediately straightened up and holstered his gun into position.
I was beside myself. I had to do something, anything, to diffuse the situation. “Please be quiet, Victoria,” I said as gently as I could. “Everything will be all right. Please, Victoria.” I was desperate to reassure her, and maybe even myself in the process. I put my arm around her slender shoulders and held her closely.
“I KILL YOU!” The bearded one was waving his AK-47 wildly around my head. “I KILL YOU!” He shouted again as if I hadn’t heard him the first time.
He was a grenade about to explode. I thought if I continued to speak in a really soothing voice, it would have the effect of calming the man down. It was a desperate ploy.
“She’s frightened,” I said softly. “She’ sorry she’s making you angry.” I held my breath.
Just then another one of the terrorists appeared and approached the bearded one. “Go to the front of the plane,” he demanded, “Some of the passengers are acting up.”
The bearded one didn’t move. “Where’s Hector? He was supposed to subdue the passengers.”
“He’s busy!” was the gruff reply. “I’m in charge here, now do as I say!”
Snorting contemptuously, the bearded one turned abruptly and disappeared down the aisle.
From the front of the plane, we heard a loud noise like the sound of machine gun fire.
Frozen in terror, Victoria and I watched as the bearded one came running back to where we were sitting, his AK-47 aimed directly at the man standing beside us.
Without warning his weapon discharged. A volley of bullets sprayed the body of his startled comrade, morphing his chest into a raw mix of shredded flesh and bones that rained all over Victoria and me. We stared in horror as the bloodied corpse slowly slid down past our seats and onto the cabin floor where it lay undisturbed in a crumpled heap.
That’s when Victoria started screaming and screaming and wouldn’t stop. For a moment I thought I thought I would lose my mind. If only there was something, anything, I could do to prevent this tragedy. Life could be so unfair.
I looked over at Victoria who was still screaming when the terrorist lowered his assault rifle and aimed it directly at her open mouth.
At that precise moment, I woke up.
***
I bolted upright in bed, my heart pounding wildly. The sheets around me were a tangled, soggy mess, and my skin was slippery with sweat. I wiped my wet forehead with the back of my hand and tried to slow down my breathing. It was just a nightmare, I told myself—a nightmare, nothing more.
The dream had been no doubt terrifying, but what really lingered in my mind was a truly troublesome question. Who was Victoria? I didn’t know anyone by that name, so where did it come from. I tried to think. Had I recently seen a movie or TV show in which there was a character named Victoria? The answer I always came up with was ‘no.’
Dream or no dream, life goes on, so the next day I went to the office as usual, although I was still fixated on this disturbing question. Who was Victoria? Surely, I had seen her name crop up somewhere recently. Maybe she was a character in a novel or a name I had seen in the newspaper. I couldn’t figure it out. Until I did, Victoria would continue to haunt me.
I needed a cup of coffee to clear the fog in my brain before I began my day, so I wandered into the company’s cozy kitchenette. Mercifully no one had yet arrived, so I had some quiet time to try to collect myself before having to deal with people.
A few minutes later, my co-worker Ginny arrived and poured herself a cup of coffee at the counter before joining me at the table. “You look like hell,” she said, noticing the bags under my eyes. “Out all night?” she added, casually sipping her hot coffee. “I hope he was worth it.”
“Thanks” I answered dryly. “I had a nightmare last night and I can’t get it out of my head.”
“Want to talk about it?” Ginny’s big heart made her the unofficial mother around the office, and she was looking at me now with those sweet expressive eyes of hers.
“Not really.” My answer verged on being rude, but I was suddenly filled with an inexplicable sense of dread. It was as if talking about my nightmare would give it a depth and a dimension that would make it real instead of nothing more than a bad dream.
Ginny sensed my discomfort and tactfully changed the subject. “What do you think about the company’s plan to relocate?”
“We’re relocating?” This was news to me and not particularly welcome.
Ginny shook her head in disbelief. “Rumors have been flying around the office for days. You didn’t hear about it? “
“I don’t know. Maybe I did. I can’t seem to focus these days,” I said staring down at my coffee cup. “So, tell me. What have you heard?”
“Basically, that we’re leaving Toronto. Of course, relocating might prove difficult for those people who have children in school.” Ginny thought a moment. “But you career gals won’t have that problem.”
She was right. No, children weren’t my problem. My problem was I didn’t want to move at all. “When is this going to happen?”
“In about three months’ time — I think.”
“Three months!” I hardly had time to digest this latest bit of news when my stomach started churning. “Three months,” I repeated dully, as if in a trance.
“What are you worried about?” Ginny asked. “You’re still young and you have seniority. You’ll adjust. Look at it this way. It’s a chance for a brand-new start. It might be fun.”
“Fun?!” I repeated, somewhat aghast. “You don’t understand.” I shook my head sadly. “My home, my family, my friends. Everything I know and love is here. I don’t want a brand-new start.” On so many levels, I felt betrayed.
Ginny got up from the table and put her cup in the sink. Then she turned to face me. “I think there’s supposed to be a news bulletin come out this morning about it. Anyway, everything will be all right,” she smiled and patted my arm. “You’ll see,” she said. Then she was gone, and I was alone once more.
“Everything will be all right.” Isn’t that what I said to the little girl in my nightmare? And was that the truth? What if I hadn’t woken up? What if my nightmare was more than a nightmare? What if it was actually a presentiment of things to come?
Wearily I dragged myself to my desk and turned on the computer. The machine took forever to warm up, but that didn’t matter because I was not particularly eager to see what was on the monitor. Finally, a brief message appeared. The company was moving all right . . . to Victoria.
***
Bev Bachmann is a retired English teacher who lives in Mississauga with her husband and their Norwitch terrier. She has published two novels and is working on a third due out in the fall.