Editor: Rebecca Rue
RUINS OF THE MIND Copyright Š 2019 Jason Stadtlander All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, please write to the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2019938918 ISBN: 978-1-64397-017-2 (Hardcover) ISBN: 978-1-64397-018-9 (Softcover) ISBN: 978-1-64397-019-6 (Ebook) For information, write: BHC Press 885 Penniman #5505 Plymouth, MI 48170 Visit the publisher: www.bhcpress.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS Page 11 FEATHERS IN THE WIND Page 26 THE LANTERN Page 49 THE GLASS PYRAMID Page 65 THE TER’ROC Page 100 CHANCE—“DON’T LOSE YOUR HEAD” Page 114 THE SHEADROCH Page 126 SPRINGTIME ROSES Page 154 DOWNWARD SPIRAL Page 168 SURVIVING THE MESSENGERS Page 187 IN THE SHADOWS OF A MOMENT Page 200 THE TALASUM Page 218 THE JOURNALS
RUINS
of the
MIND
FEATHERS IN THE WIND
J
ake stood at the credenza in front of the mirror in his small hotel room, quickly gulping down his coffee. His shuttle was scheduled to leave the hotel for the airport in eight minutes, and he wasn’t about to miss it. If he did, there would be no chance of catching his flight to Los Angeles, and he would miss his daughter’s fifth birthday. He had promised her he would never miss a birthday, and he would never forgive himself if he did. Jake downed the last bit of what he termed “hotel swill.” Grabbing his carry-on, laptop and coat, he stole one last glance around the room—all set. Jake dashed down the hall to the elevator. He punched the “down” button repeatedly with excessive force, but the car resisted his urgings to move along more quickly. It was taking forever. The elevator finally came to a stop and opened. Inside stood a calm, poised, well-dressed woman in her late sixties, about the age of his mother but much more attractive. Jake caught himself. Not a very good thing to think about your own mother. In less than a second, his salesman face was on. “Good morning,” he said with a hint of charm. Jake tried to sound calm but his labored breathing from running to the elevator made it difficult to put forth the effort toward his usual demeanor. “Morning,” the woman replied in a soft, slightly muddled British accent. “Running late?” she asked. “Late? What makes you think that? Pfft.” Jake forced a sarcastic chuckle. 11
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The woman offered a polite smile that softened her face and then turned back toward the elevator door. Clearly, this woman wasn’t as susceptible as some were to his charm. Nonsense, you’re just off your game, Jake-o. The elevator door opened. Jake forced himself to hold back, not wanting to run her over as she took her time getting off. Once she was a short distance away from the door, Jake bolted and ran through the hotel’s revolving doors to the awaiting shuttle. He breathed a loud sigh of relief as he reached the shuttle door, climbing the stairs quickly with his luggage. “We’ll leave in a moment. We’re just waiting for one more person,” the driver informed him. Jake took a seat in the middle of the shuttle van on the bench that ran the length of the wall between the driver’s cab and the rear door. He closed his eyes momentarily, feeling a bit more relaxed now that he knew he would not miss his flight. He heard someone step on board up front, followed by the shuffle of luggage and the bus doors closing. Jake opened his eyes. He was surprised to see the woman from the elevator sitting across the aisle, looking at him and smiling warmly. Jake returned her smile. “We meet again,” he said. She raised an eyebrow, dropping some of her smile. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were following me,” the woman said, teasing. “Don’t be so presumptuous,” Jake said playfully. “After all, I was already on the shuttle when you arrived.” She considered this. “Hmm…true.” She smiled again. Her name was Gwen, and she lived in Boston with her husband of forty years. She was raised in Liverpool, England, but her father had moved her family to California when she was thirteen. Her father was now ill, and Gwen was headed to California to visit him. “Why were you at the hotel then?” “A girlfriend of mine was visiting from Montreal. I decided to stay with her at her hotel since I had to leave early—and the hotel is closer
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to the airport. We don’t see each other often, and we wanted a chance to catch up.” “What airline are you taking?” “American.” Resisting the urge to smile at another coincidence, he said, “Oh, then we are on the same flight. Need any help getting to the gate?” “No, but some company would be wonderful,” she replied. “Terminal A,” the driver announced. Jake was waiting for the arrival at Terminal B. “What brings you to LA?” Gwen asked. “My daughter Isabel has her fifth birthday tomorrow, and I promised her I’d always be home for her birthdays.” “I see. You’re a good father.” “She and her sister are the two best things that ever happened to me, next to marrying my wife, Rachel.” “God has been good to me in that way, too,” Gwen said. “Both of my children are blessings to me, as are my three grandchildren.” “Nice to hear.” “Terminal B,” the driver announced. The two stepped off the shuttle. Jake thanked the driver, wishing him a good day. “I’ve never liked using those automatic kiosks. I’m headed for the check-in counter,” Gwen said. “Okay. I’ll opt for the kiosk and wait for you over there,” Jake replied, pointing to a Dunkin’ Donuts. “Sounds good.” Jake waited and looked at his watch: 6:35 a.m.—it was 3:35 a.m. back home. He had promised Rachel he would always call before takeoff, so he pulled out his mobile phone and hit speed dial number one. Three thousand miles away, the phone rang just twice. His wife’s voice answered with a sleepy, “Hello?” “Hi, sweetie. Sorry to wake you. Just wanted to let you know I’m at the airport and jumping on the next flight home.” 13
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“Hey you,” she said dreamily. “Everything okay, Rachel?” “Yup. It’s pitch-black here, and all three of us girls are snuggled up together in the same bed.” “Both of them are sleeping with you?” The thought made him smile. “There was a storm last night. They didn’t want to be alone, and frankly, neither did I. I miss you.” “I miss you too, baby. I’ll be home soon. Go back to sleep.” “Have a safe flight. I love you.” “Love you too.” He pressed “End” just as Gwen walked up. “Talking to your wife?” “Yes,” he said affectionately. “She sounds cute, even little-girl-like, when she’s sleepy.” “My George is a grouch in the morning. I never bother to call him this early,” Gwen said, laughing. The two talked as they approached security. Jake told Gwen about his daughter’s plans for a sleepover with her friends. They passed through the security check as Gwen told Jake about her father and how robust he had been before falling ill to cancer. “He was a strong man, but he has never been the same since he began fighting off the cancer. I’m proud of him, but it’s sad not to see him live life as fully as he used to. Now he has a rather serious infection, and I want to be there with him while he recovers.” “I know what you mean. I watched my grandmother deteriorate when she developed Alzheimer’s. It was tough to see her change from such a strong, vibrant woman to a shell of her former self. She couldn’t remember anything at all in the end—very sad.” “I’ve told George a hundred times that when it’s my time to go, I don’t want to linger in this world, void of hope and purpose. I want to possess my wits up until the very end and simply go.” “I hear ya,” Jake concurred, pointing at the gate to the right of the T junction. “That’s us—gate 32.” 14
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They walked silently until they reached the seating area adjacent to their gate and found two empty seats. Jake looked out through the expansive glass picture window at the tarmac. The sun had been up for just half an hour, and already there was a brilliant sunrise just to the west of Logan Airport. “Beautiful morning,” Jake observed. “Isabel would love being here right now. She loves airplanes and so do I. There’s something sort of magical about an airport.” “You can go anywhere in the world from right here,” Gwen declared. “Exactly,” Jake replied, thinking that she had read his mind. “I remember the first time I stepped onto an airplane,” Gwen said. “I was ten years old. It was a Boeing Stratoliner flown by Pan Am, a huge, old thing with four giant engines. My father took me with him on a flight from Bristol to Dublin.” Gwen paused, smiling just slightly, lost in thought. “It was the most magical moment of my life. To be above the clouds is not natural, but it feels so right. My father told me something on that flight I’ve always remembered—that dreams were like feathers in the wind. Take a handful of feathers, throw them into the air, and you just never know where they might fly. He said that if I loved flying, I should follow that dream. His encouragement inspired me to test for my pilot’s license years later.” “You’re a pilot?” Jake asked, a bit taken aback. “Not commercial—just recreational. I haven’t actually flown as a pilot in command for twenty years,” she said with a smile. Jake was impressed. “So the angel does have wings.” Gwen blushed and responded playfully, “I’m a married woman, sir.” “I’m sure your husband wouldn’t mind me complimenting his wife.” “True…he wouldn’t. Thank you.” “Feathers in the wind, hmm? I’ll have to remember that for Isabel. She’d like that.” “Attention passengers. Boarding will now begin for American Airlines Flight 11 to Los Angeles. We will begin by boarding passengers 15
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needing assistance or those with children. Again—those passengers requiring additional time or those accompanied by children, please come to the gate.” “Do you want to board now?” Jake asked. “No, I’m fine. I’ll wait until they call my row. What seat number are you?” Jake glanced at his boarding pass, answering, “26C.” Another coincidence. “I’m 26E. So we’re right next to each other.” She smiled, surprised. “Are you sure? Since when is E next to C?” “It’s the way the 767 is laid out. Not sure why, but it goes A, B, C, E, G, H and J. I suppose the designers of the plane never learned the alphabet.” They both laughed. “Well, as long as they designed the rest of the plane properly, I won’t complain.” They laughed again. “We will now begin boarding rows 31 through 36. Again—rows 31 through 36.” “I think we’re next,” Gwen said. “So—what will you do when you arrive?” Jake asked. “My son is picking me up. I probably won’t be able to see my father until this evening. I’m not looking forward to seeing him in his condition, but he is still my father, and I just want to be with him. Don’t ever forget that, Jake. No matter how old your little girls are, you will always be their daddy.” Pondering this, Jake smiled. “You never know what you’re getting into when you become a parent, do you? But once you become a parent, you can’t imagine never having been one.” “So true. What is your other daughter’s name?” “Sophia, named after her grandmother.” “How old?” “She’ll be three in December,” Jake said, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Three is a sweet age.”
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“Attention passengers. American Airlines Flight 11 will now begin boarding rows 17 through 30. Again—rows 17 through 30.” “That’s us.” Jake stood up and extended the handle of his carry-on to begin boarding. Gwen only had a purse and walked in front of Jake. They scanned their tickets and headed down the Jetway. Jake followed Gwen onto the plane, ducking his head as he stepped through the door. An Asian woman whose name tag said “Betty O” welcomed them with a friendly smile. “Good morning, and welcome aboard,” she said with not even a hint of an Asian accent. Another woman with a name tag that read “Karen M” was at the business class seats, slowly making her way through the passengers to the front, one pillow tucked under each arm. She smiled and said, “Good morning.” “Morning,” Jake replied. “Where are you sitting?” she asked. “26C.” “That’s about eight more rows back on the left. You can put your carry-on in the overhead compartment to the left of your row.” “Great. Thank you.” Jake began making his way to the back. By the time he arrived at his row, Gwen had already put her purse under the seat in front of her and was fastening her seat belt. “I hate middle rows,” Jake said, clearly agitated. Only half joking, Gwen said, “They aren’t so bad. I prefer to think of them as more cushioning between me and the wall should we get in an accident.” The man one row forward in a window seat responded to her comment by looking away from his magazine at her with a scowl. Gwen smiled at him in reassurance. “Don’t worry. These are very safe planes.” The man grunted and turned back to his magazine. Gwen looked up at Jake and, under her breath, said smartly, “Friendly group.” Jake chuckled at the exchange. 17
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Gwen continued, “Planes are funny. You have this illusion of being in your own little world with your little tray table and your little climate controls. But in reality, everyone is subject to whatever is happening to the entire plane. It’s like the little meals you get: tiny little packages, tiny little drinks and tiny little portions.” “With tiny little nutrition,” Jake added, and they both laughed. The voice of a female flight attendant came over the speakers. “Good morning. We should have everyone boarded within the next few minutes. Please take a moment to review the safety card located in the pocket of the seat in front of you.” As if offered a hypnotic suggestion they couldn’t refuse, nearly everyone reached down and grabbed the safety card. Some returned it to the pocket immediately, but Jake took a minute to look it over. He noticed several inflatable ramps and a diagram that showed the location of each life vest. He slipped the safety card back into its seat pocket. “You okay?” Gwen asked. “Yes. I always get a little nervous a few minutes before a flight. I’ll be fine five minutes into it.” “Trust me. I’ve taken this trip dozens of times. There’s nothing to worry about.” “I’m probably just reacting from too much traveling in recent years. Never seemed to have a problem flying back when I was in the service, though.” “When were you in the service?” “I enlisted when I was twenty-one and served four years on the Enterprise. Finished in ‘96.” “Navy, hmm? Did you enjoy it?” “Yes. Good people there. The navy is a tough group. They can turn the softest insides to tempered steel.” “Or break them, I’m sure.” Jake laughed in agreement. “Yes, or break them. Fortunately, I wasn’t the latter. I finished as a petty officer second class.”
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“Wonderful. Good for you.” They felt a sudden lurch as the plane began to taxi away from the gate, and the captain initiated his traditional passenger greeting, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome aboard American Airlines Flight 11, nonstop service from Boston to Los Angeles. This is your Captain, John Ogonowski. I expect our flight to be clear and smooth. We may have a little turbulence over the Rockies, but we’ll take to a higher altitude and see if we can avoid some of that. Our total time in flight is expected to be five hours and forty minutes, but I’m hoping to shave off a little of that. We have been cleared for taxi to the runway. Your flight attendants will now discuss our safety procedures.” As the flight attendants reviewed the safety protocols, Jake’s mind wandered to his wife and two girls snuggled up in bed together. He could picture them inside the bedroom of his modest home in the Palisades, all tucked in under the plush comforter in the dark. Their home was nowhere near the size of most of the other homes in the area, but it possessed a certain charm and was built on an especially scenic spot bordering the state park where the couple and their daughters enjoyed hiking. Well—all but Sophia, that is. She always ended up being carried around the park on her father’s strong shoulders. The images in his mind’s eye of carrying little Fifi around on his shoulders made Jake smile. He glanced over at Gwen and saw her looking at him, amused. “Why are you smiling?” she asked. “I was just thinking about my hikes in Topanga. Rachel and I take the girls there often, but I always end up doing the hiking for both myself and little Sophia.” “That’s what being a daddy is about, isn’t it?” “It is indeed.” Captain Ogonowski’s firm voice came on the intercom again. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have been cleared for departure. Crew, please cross-check for departure and take your seats.” The plane taxied slowly into the takeoff position. A moment later, Jake felt the thrust as the engines pushed full throttle and began their 19
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roll down the runway. The plane shuddered momentarily, picking up speed. He glanced across the aisle and saw a young woman with sandy blonde hair, head back and eyes closed, relaxing. As if sensing Jake’s gaze, she opened her eyes and looked toward him, smiling. “You okay?” she asked. He returned her smile and answered a little too abruptly, “Yep.” She smiled reassuringly. “Takeoffs and landings are always the hardest.” “You don’t seem stressed at all,” Jake stated as if it were a question. “I’ve got flying in my blood. I’ve been flying since I was a little girl, all over the world—it’s second nature to me. Did I hear you tell that woman you were in the navy?” “Yes. I didn’t have to fly that much in the navy, though. Navy’s all about boats.” He laughed. “I’m Jake. Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand. She held out her hand in return and shook his. “I’m Heather. The pleasure’s mine.” The front of the aircraft lifted off the ground, and Jake felt the smoothness of the plane as it became completely airborne, the hydraulics kicking in as the pilot lifted the landing gear. A few minutes into the flight, Heather reached for a book and began reading. Gwen did the same. Something to read—I should have brought something to read. He reached into the pocket in front of him and pulled out the latest SkyMall magazine, which he deemed a catalog of things you never knew you needed but that seemed to fill a need, nonetheless. He glanced through the magazine, wishing he had a dog to go with the automatic watering dish or a reason to order the clever little glove warmers. “Where do they come up with the ideas for these things?” Jake wondered aloud. “Probably sitting on airplanes for hours on end with nothing better to do,” Gwen retorted. Jake, Gwen and Heather laughed simultaneously. 20
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Heather looked over at Gwen and Jake. “Are you two related?” she asked. “Us? No. We just met today,” Jake answered. “You seem like old friends,” Heather observed. “We relate well, I suppose,” Gwen replied. “What’s bringing you to LA?” Jake asked Heather. “I’m headed there for work. Although I lived there most of my life, we have an office in Los Angeles, so it gives me a chance to go back.,” she replied. “I live in the Palisades myself.” Commotion from a man and a woman at the front of the cabin interrupted their conversation. The man was speaking harshly to the woman who, in turn, was clearly distressed, but Jake couldn’t make out the exchange over the noise from the plane’s engines. Jake looked across the aisle at Heather and then again up the aisle toward business class. He noted that the curtains were now drawn between business and economy class. “What is it?” Gwen asked Jake, a note of concern in her voice. “Not sure. Looks like some sense of urgency—maybe someone’s having a heart attack?” There was silence. The three gazed at one another for only an instant and then looked around quickly at the other passengers. “What’s going on?” the brunette next to Gwen asked. Jake responded tentatively, “I’m not sure—probably nothing.” Suddenly, the angry man threw open the curtains between business and economy class, tossing a canister that released some kind of smoke into the compartment. He shoved Betty and a male flight attendant forward through the divider and then ordered them to move to the back of the airplane. Another man near the back of the plane yelled, “Shut up—everyone be calm. Do as I say and no one will be harmed. Get to the back of the plane—now!” Jake noted that the man had a strong accent of some sort. 21
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Passengers began unfastening their seat belts hurriedly, doing as they were told. A few people were coughing from the smoke filtering through the cabin. The first man shouted to the flight attendants in what Jake now identified as a thick Middle Eastern accent. “You two—get everyone to the back of the plane!” Jake saw blood running down the man’s arm and on the sleeve of his shirt. The man held a small knife of some kind in his hand, perhaps a box cutter—like the type stock boys use at the grocery store. Jake unfastened his seat belt and helped Gwen do the same while Heather walked into the aisle and started for the back. Jake stopped in the aisle and waited, allowing Gwen to go first. If this deranged man at the front was going to attack them, he would have to deal with Jake first. Jake paused, looking at the man, who now locked eyes with him. There was a complete lack of fear and feeling in those cold, dark eyes, and in that instant, Jake wondered if he was going to die. “Don’t think about being a hero,” the man spoke coldly to Jake. “Now get to the back.” Jake did as he was told and walked quietly to the back of the plane. The aircraft’s engines got quiet as the plane leveled off. Betty and the other flight attendant—“Jeffrey C” according to his name tag—escorted people to the back seats and the galley. “Everyone find somewhere to sit against the wall,” Betty said firmly, a sense of urgency in her voice. Over the intercom came another stern voice. “Everyone, please do as you are told.” The voice unexpectedly stopped but resumed a moment later. “We have some planes. We are returning to the airport. Stay quiet, and you’ll be okay. If you want to use your phones to contact your loved ones, you may do so. But please be quiet.” “We have some planes—what the hell does that mean?” Jake asked, giving Gwen a troubled look. “I have a bad feeling about this,” Gwen responded. Jake pulled out his phone to call Rachel—no service. Then he realized he had switched his phone to airplane mode earlier and turned it 22
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back on…three bars. He punched speed dial one and a moment later the phone was ringing. “Hello?” a still-sleepy Rachel answered. Jake stifled a cough. “Hi, honey. It’s me.” “Jacob, did you miss your plane?” “No, baby. I’m on the plane.” Rachel sensed something. “What—Jake, why are you calling me in flight?” “Our plane has been taken by hijackers, Rachel.” “Oh god, Jake—no! Are you okay?” her voice pleaded, jumping an octave, and Jake knew Rachel was now fully awake. “I’m okay for now. They’ve moved us all to the back of the plane and set off some kind of a tear gas or smoke bomb between us and them. I don’t know what’s next or what their plan is. Are the girls there in bed with you?” Controlled fear laced Rachel’s voice. “Yes, honey. Right here next to me.” “Can you wake them up and put me on speaker?” “Sure. One sec.” He could hear Rachel in the background lovingly waking up the girls. “Come on, Sophia, wake up. Your father is on the phone, and he wants to speak with you. Isabel honey, you too.” Isabel was sleepy but happy to know her father wanted to speak with her. “Daddy—where are you?” “I’m on an airplane, sweetie. Fifi—you there?” A soft, less audible voice replied, “Hi, Daddy.” Jake smiled at the strangeness of this moment, anxious but tender. “Hello, sweetheart. I love you girls—do you know that?” “I love you too,” all three replied at once. Jake spoke directly to Rachel. “I love you, sweetheart…my bride.” Holding back tears, Rachel responded, “I love you too, husband.”
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Jake held perfectly still, caught up in the moment when Betty suddenly tapped him on the shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. “Sir, I’m sorry—but can I use your phone?” “Of course,” Jake said. Then he spoke to his daughters in a kind, fatherly voice. “Girls, someone needs to use my phone. I have to go now. I’ll try and call you back, okay?” “Okay,” they replied in unison. “Goodbye, Daddy,” Fifi said softly. “Goodbye, sweet angel,” Jake said softly and pressed “End.” He handed the phone to Betty, feeling a sense of something poignant he could not put into words. “I’m sorry, sir,” Betty apologized, desperation in her voice. “My phone isn’t getting any service, and I need to try and call our home office immediately.” “If it means we all come out of this in one piece, you’re welcome to it—I’ll do anything I can to help.” “Thank you,” she said, momentary relief in her voice. Betty dialed the number and waited briefly. Then she took a deep breath and said in a low, frightened voice, “We’re sitting in the back. The cockpit is not answering. Somebody has been stabbed in business class and…um…I think there’s mace…it’s tough to breathe. Appears we’re being hijacked.” Betty paused briefly and followed with, “Flight 12.” Jeffrey interrupted. “Betty—it’s Flight 11, not 12, and tell them the guy has a knife.” “Right,” Betty said nervously, making the correction. She paused again and then replied soberly, “Yes.” Glancing at Jeffrey, Betty said quietly, “I can’t hear what they’re saying.” She then continued, “We just left Boston. We’re airborne, supposedly headed to LA, but the cockpit’s not answering their phone to confirm.” Jake looked over at Gwen, who was sitting on the floor against a food trolley locked in place that carried meals they might never eat. She looked frightened. “You okay?” “Yes…but I admit—this time I’m scared.” “Me too.” 24
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Jake laid his hand momentarily on Gwen’s shoulder and then reached down to grasp her closest hand, holding it firmly. Heather sat on Gwen’s other side and reached for her free hand. The newly friended threesome felt a sudden surefire bonding, the type formed only by shared trauma. Betty continued talking with someone on the phone from home office while passengers throughout the plane spoke in hushed, worried tones to their loved ones. One man was crying softly. “I’m so sorry, honey. I love you…” his voice trailed off. The brunette grasped Heather’s free hand. Soon, nearly everyone in the galley was holding hands. Their eyes looked around compassionately at faces they had never known, seeking solace in their shared fear. Another thirty passengers and crew members at the back of the plane held hands now, too. Neither race, nor gender, nor social standing held any significance here. The only sounds cutting the silence were Betty’s voice and the sound of the plane’s engines, now clearly in descent. “We’re descending,” Gwen said gravely. “We have been for a while now,” Heather replied. “Please tell me we’re landing,” another woman exclaimed in a near pleading voice. The plane made a sudden jolt, listing from side to side as the person behind the controls struggled to control it. Betty’s voice, suddenly broken up by the shaking of the floorboards, was heard saying anxiously, “Okay, the aircraft is erratic again— we’re flying very erratically.” Jake closed his eyes. He envisioned hiking with his girls and wife through the park on a day with a crystalline blue sky—a day exactly like today—the radiant warmth of the bright sun resting on his bare shoulders. The comforting vision of his family calmed and soothed him. This was Jake’s final awareness as the plane crashed into the North Tower of New York City’s World Trade Center—all other thoughts scattered, just as feathers in the wind. 25
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Originally from Ohio, Jason resides in northern Massachusetts. He has had a love for writing since he wrote his first story in sixth grade. Since then, he has written more than two hundred short stories, and he has published numerous articles and columns in newspapers, magazines, and The Huffington Post. He is also the author of the suspense novel The Steel Van Man and the upcoming science fiction novel Ter’roc Evolution. He enjoys connecting and philosophizing with his readers through book signings and speaking engagements.