Close your eyes and I'll be on my way

Oct 18, 2009 15:01

"No, I won't tell you what your present is," Samantha says, chuckling into the phone. "If I told you now, you wouldn't be surprised, would you? All right, then. Keep on being a good boy. Yes, I told him you said hi. I'll see you tomorrow morning, all right? Let me talk to Aunt Jaye." She checks her watch, then looks up at the departure listing at the gate. "Hi. No, I'm sorry. No, the weather here's fine; it's the storms to the north that're causing all the trouble. Yes. Of course I do. I will. Is Charlie giving you any trouble? Good. No, he didn't really have a cast on his arm; it was just a sling. Just a precaution after straining his arm. He's fine. He just can't play baseball for a few days." Samantha looks at her watch again. "Okay, it looks like I have time to get something to eat before boarding time, so I'm going to--yes, I'll let you know when I'm at O'Hare. Soon as they let us turn on cell phones again. Thanks again for taking care of Charlie. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye." She hits End with a brief sigh of relief. Family. You couldn't choose them; you could only choose how to deal with them. Something else Michael understood.

Airport food was usually depressing, but there'd been a Cuban sandwich place at the other end of the concourse that had smelled promising. Hopefully it was still open this late. She picks up her carry-on and makes her way to the ladies' room, automatically noting the easiest marks on her way there. Airports could be quite a pickpocketing challenge: not so much for the security measures as because airports are where people are often checking on their wallets or their purses. So many people wondering, Where did I put my boarding pass? Did I remember to save the receipt? Do I have enough change for the vending machine? Is there a wi-fi hotspot here for my BlackBerry? September 11th had only changed the obvious security measures, nothing Samantha couldn't deal with. Technology was seldom much of a challenge. People, though ... ah, people were where the real challenge could be found.

At this hour of the night, there weren't many other women in the ladies' room, which meant she could take her time at the sink, washing her hands with a generous amount of soap before drying her hands off. Germ-free the blowers might be, but she preferred paper towels ... not least because she could slip a little something she didn't need any more into the trash under cover of disposing the crumpled white square.

The flight attendant who'd been in the first stall flashes her an automatic smile as she leaves, and Samantha decides to feign weariness when she makes her own exit. It is, after all, another thing many air travelers have in common, and it requires very little effort on her part tonight. She shifts her overnight bag from her hand to her shoulder, stumbling a bit against the tall dress-check mirror installed near the door--

Why is it dark? Airports don't lose power easily--

--and the lights come on again.

Samantha automatically begins walking again, to where she knows the exit is, but stops when she faces her own reflection. What the.... She turns around, thinking that somehow she'd gotten disoriented in the darkness--but how? She always knows where she is in the dark--but all she sees is more mirrors. Mirrors on every wall of a very small room.

No. Not a room. An elevator.

Brennan? I knew you were an evil son of a bitch, but if you're trying to keep me from my son--

She presses L for lobby. Time to see where she is, and who she needs to deal with before she can go home to Charlie.

samantha

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