The hour and a half drive to the Colorado Springs airport was uneventful. There was no conversation in the car as they drove. She had made her feelings about this trip clear, she thought it was foolish and had held no quarter when it came to criticizing the entire endeavor. The last few weeks had been a war zone in their home, which had only sharpened his resolve. This was going to happen, he had invested too much to turn back now. The laps in the pool, hours running hills and hitting the weight room.

  Nick was not in the best shape of his life; that would take a miracle to achieve at this age. He was, however, in respectable shape. His training regimen had been a throwback to what had worked for him before at a much younger age. Shoulders and hips had been the issue from the start. His hips ached now as he sat in the car, but he said nothing. To admit any weakness now was pointless. She would jump on any admission of not being ready for this “pointless trip into fantasy land”, as she had referred to it. Nick pulled into the airport and did not bother with parking. She had made it clear she was not even going to bother going into the passenger terminal. He pulled up to the front door of the small regional airport and stopped the car. Leaving it running, he popped the hatchback, prepared to remove his one small piece of luggage. He had packed light. There was no need to bring a lot of clothes. Jay had explained they would provide him with the necessary gear. Nick had requested only a few specific weapons, and according to Jay, those requirements would be met when he arrived at the lake.

  Pulling the luggage out of the car, he closed the hatchback and rolled his eyes as he saw her still sitting in the front passenger seat. She was waiting for him to open her door. Old habits, he opened the front passenger door, and she stepped out of the car. She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek and said nothing as she walked around the back of the car and waited for him to open the driver’s door. Nick walked to the door and opened it, looking into her eyes. He saw no surrender there whatsoever; this was how they would end this disagreement. No good luck, no mention of staying safe, nada. Just a very clear, unspoken “fuck off” as she closed the door and drove away. He had been here before, seemed like every woman he had ever known had an opinion that they felt had to be valued more than his own, each learned in time that was not the case, and each travelled that long, painful path out the door. Man, I can pick them, Nick thought as he walked inside the airport listening to the wheels on his luggage clicking on the manmade divots in the sidewalk. He wondered if she would even bother to pick him up on the return flight, if there was one.

  Once inside, he checked the bag and made his way through the security gauntlet. A few moments later, he was sitting at gate number four, waiting for the Alaska Air flight #3497 to arrive. Nick would have to fly to Seattle, and from there to Spokane. Once in Spokane, he would have to take a Greyhound bus the final one hundred and four miles to Moses Lake. There wasn’t much public transportation that went to Moses Lake, Nick found out as he tried to book a flight, probably the reason they wanted the mission to start there. He sat watching people in the terminal, thinking about what this one last dive into the mix meant to him. Really, now it did seem like a childish idea. What could he really do at his age? Maybe she was right, but thinking about the last three months, he wouldn’t have changed much. Lessons learned in his life had taught him one thing: take the chance, the risk, and don’t look back. Life is meant to be lived, not hoarded in a box of old photos of things you had once done. Yesterday is gone forever, tomorrow is a maybe, and today is all that matters. Nick stared at the industrial grade carpet beneath his feet and sighed. Forward, always moving forward was all he had ever known.

  Taking the cell phone from his pocket, he sent her a text, “Cya in a week.” Pushing send, he waited, hoping for a response; none came.

  The soul searching was over, and her decision had been made. The dream was clear in her mind. Smiling, she thought about how here she was, an educated woman, she had seen much in her short life and survived things most people in this country cannot imagine exist. Her educated mind viewed the dream as a foolish talisman, nothing to be paid attention to, much less staking so much value in its content. She smiled as she felt her adult mind protesting this course of action. The superstitious and primitive side of her mind had won the battle, and she was not surprised. Something about that time of her life had ruled the day when decisions like this one were to be made. The strength she had felt when she had listened to her spirit guardian that hard day so many years ago was undeniable. The feeling had lingered for days; she did not remember much of what had happened the night of her escape. It felt like someone else was at the wheel, driving the machine of her body, and she was just along for the ride. Years of therapy had given the experience many names and titles, but no one had felt what she had felt that day. No therapist could understand the raw power that had filled her weakened body where none had existed before, giving her the courage and strength to win the day. There was no explanation; it just was. That was all that mattered now as well.

  The dream had been as real and powerful as that moment so many years ago. It too just was what it was. What the dream meant, who knew? She had to trust her path, trust that there was a reason for the images, and when she needed to know what they meant, she would know. The three pyramids in the desert were as clear and detailed as if she had seen the great pyramids of Giza with her own eyes. She had Googled the great pyramids afterward and found out there were actually six pyramids, not just three. Her dream had been clear, there were only three, and she needed to follow the wolf as he wound through them. There are no wolves in the deserts of the Middle East. She had checked just to be sure, but the dream was clear. The wolf waited for her, looking at her with a knowing, intelligent look. She had to admit, closing her eyes, trying to extract every detail from the memory of the dream, the wolf had frightened her. There was no clear feeling of kindness or concern for her as he stared at her. The look was cold and disconnected. The look of a predator who has hunted and been hunted. The intensity of those blue eyes burned as he stared at her, silently waiting for her to follow and making clear he would go no further without her. The moment was filled with anxiety, the air was thick with fear and hatred. She could still smell smoke in her dream, and the unmistakable scent of burning flesh. Shots rang out as bullets struck the ground all around the wolf; regardless, he never flinched or wavered. He waited for her, staring in her direction, almost as if he was unaware of the imminent danger, or perhaps he just did not care; she could not tell which. As soon as she started towards him, the dream ended. She had awakened startled, covered in sweat, and breathing from exertion. Even now, her heart pounded in her chest as she recalled the vivid dream. Yes, she heard the protests her educated mind had made, but the primitive, childlike mind was clear. Follow the wolf. She had made the commitment that if she could, she would. She opened her eyes as she heard her flight number announced overhead. She would wait till the last moment to board. She hated to be confined in closed spaces.

  The final call came for her flight, and she reluctantly boarded the aircraft. She would be landing in Seattle several hours from now. The flight was going to be long, and she would use the time to do some final research on the subject of human trafficking. It was different when you knew about it from the inside, had actually lived it. Reading stats and articles could not begin to paint the images she recalled as she read.

  Hours later, her flight landed rather abruptly at the Sea/Tac airport. The flight had been smooth and uneventful; the landing, however, was difficult. It reminded her of a comment she had overheard a pilot make in an airport coffee shop in Albuquerque, New Mexico. He remarked that flying was not the difficult part of being a pilot; it was the controlled crash that most called landing. He said, “Think about it,” to his companion in this conversation. “Landing is really only maintaining control of a crash. You’re going to come down one way or another once you leave the ground; the idea is to come down under some kind of control. Crash skillfully, and you live, people praise you and smile as they leave the plane; crash poorly, and your face is all over CNN the next week and everyone dies.” The landing in Albuquerque had been a hard one, something about the mountains and the changing crosswinds had made it a difficult place for pilots to land. She wondered what had made today’s landing so different. Usually, the pilots were able to control the “crash” well enough that she was barely aware of the wheels touching the ground. Today, it felt like the landing gear would surely collapse, the plane had slammed into the runway so hard.

  After the usual weather announcements and reminders not to leave your property on the plane, the door was opened and people began the tedious process of exiting the aircraft. As she stood up and began to make her way up the center aisle, she could hear the woman in front of her starting to swear under her breath. She was middle-aged, stocky, and had an attitude about the way she carried herself that made Nõn uncomfortable. She was reminded of the woman who had sold her into slavery so long ago. Weird, she thought, to make that association now; she was barely aware of the woman until a moment ago, and now she had associated her with a person who had sold her into slavery without batting an eye. Perhaps all the studying and research had made an impact on her mindset more than she wanted to admit.

  As the middle-aged woman approached the pilot who was wishing everyone a good day, she boiled over with rage. “What kind of fucking landing was that, Junior? First time you ever landed an airplane while the stewardess was sucking your cock? Jesus, that was a piss poor landing.”

  The pilot said nothing as the angry female passenger left the plane. His face was now crimson red, as he was notably uncomfortable by the angry woman’s remarks. Nõn was the next passenger to leave the plane and told him to have a good day.

  He replied, “Thank you, and you as well.” No point in making him feel worse than the angry woman already had.

  Nõn entered the Sea/Tac airport with a two and a half hour layover to burn. She headed towards the nearest restrooms. The angry middle-aged woman had the same idea, and they walked in as they blended in with the never-ending crowd of people in the terminal. She avoided the angry woman as they entered the restroom. Just being near her made Nõn uncomfortable. She carried herself with a barely controlled rage, and being near her made Nõn feel as if she had to be ready for anything. Violence rolled off her in wave after dark wave. Instinctively, the other women in the restroom parted as the angry woman split the crowd and headed towards the first open stall. Moments later, the occupants of the restroom had an experience they wouldn’t forget for some time.

  To most men, the restroom experience is one in which no one says much; you enter in silence, speak to no one, and take care of business. Eye contact and small talk with strangers are forbidden. These are well known rules every male has been socialized to adhere to. A woman’s restroom is another world that would make most men cringe in horror to participate in. Women talk and share everything while they take care of their bodies’ needs. Some laugh like small children as they evacuate their bowels, passing remarks back and forth from stall to stall. It’s the one place women drop the façade of being refined, having culture and manners. In short, women bust ass like nobody’s business. The middle-aged woman was about to take this secret feminine folkway to an entirely new level.

  As she began to evacuate her bowels, the stench was unimaginable. Giggling, she loudly called out, “Nothing like a vigorous round of anal sex to loosen up the bowels, aye girls?” This was the first of many disgusting comments coming from the now defiled stall. Several women immediately left the restroom, horrified at the scene, comments and smell. Nõn stood her ground, however, refusing to be intimidated by anyone, for any reason. When the middle-aged woman finally did exit her stall, the restroom had been cleared, much to her satisfaction, except for one redheaded black woman.

  The middle-aged woman smiled and said out loud, “Where did y’all run off to? I was just getting started,” as she waved her arms around in a drunk-like strut. Nõn ignored her and continued to wash her hands, watching as the woman strutted around the restroom like an MMA competitor who had just defeated their opponent in record time. Their eyes locked in the mirror as Nõn watched her reflection. In that moment, she knew the woman was a killer; she could see it in her eyes, behind the victorious smile the woman wore because of her disgusting accomplishment. Nõn recognized evil lurking barely hidden, barely contained. She knew this woman embodied evil; there was no hiding it after they locked eyes. The two women glared at each other, and finally the middle-aged woman broke the gaze and smiled. As she walked up to the sink next to Nõn and started to vigorously wash her hands, splashing soap and water beyond her sink and into Nõn’s sink, she began to recite a poem, her voice echoing in the now nearly empty restroom.

  “Mr. Garcia went to Taco Bell,

  And soon he would experience a watery hell.

  He ate a burrito with refried beans,

  Then runs to the restroom and pulls down his jeans.

  Poot, poot, pooot as gas is released.

  It’s rest in peace for that toilet seat.”

  She laughed and laughed after she had finished the poem, and standing back from the sink, she shook off her hands in the air. Finally, she flicked her fingers at Nõn; the last drops of water landed on Nõn’s face and shirt, and the stranger said, “Farewell and adieu, my pretty. Hope you enjoyed the show.”

  Nõn watched as the woman left the restroom, saying nothing. Shaking her head, she wiped off her face. Slowly, women began to trickle back into the restroom, each complaining about the now nearly toxic level of methane wafting in the air.

  Nick watched from his seat in the Africa Lounge as women began to pour out of the women’s restroom. Laughing, he watched their faces, twisted and contorted, emphasizing the horrors they had been witness to. Smiling to himself, he thought, I guess someone had a bad flight. Moments later, a middle-aged woman walked through the doorway, her face unemotional. Slowly, women began to trickle into the restroom. Nick said under his breath, as the stern woman walked away with a no nonsense demeanor, “And the winner is the redhead bitch.” Raising his eyebrows, he wondered what had happened in the restroom to make so many people come shuffling out so quickly. Then he thought better of the idea, better not to wonder. Some things need not be known; let it be.

  Moments later, an athletic, red headed black woman walked out of the restroom. She stopped and looked around, scanning the surroundings. To anyone else, the scan looked normal; the woman was orienting herself to the terminal, looking for a hint of which direction held the most promising fast food outlets. Nick, however, saw something different. His survival had depended on seeing what others missed in the most harmless of details. As she appeared to be scanning the terminal, he noticed she always looked at people’s hands, and then eyes, quickly moving from one person to another; anyone who was nearby received the quick cursory scan, and when she was satisfied, she moved on. Nick recognized this as a scan for a threat, not a whimsical scan for attractive mates or sexual partners. He watched carefully as she finally and noticeably relaxed, having determined all was safe for the moment. Now the search for a place to eat commenced. She too decided on the African Lounge and walked through the heavy traffic, weaving in and out expertly while never breaking stride.

  The sign said wait to be seated, so she waited, and finally a waitress walked up to her and asked, “Will this be for one?”

  Nõn replied, “Yes.”

  “For dinner, or just a drink?”

  “Dinner, I think, thank you.”

  The waitress seated her just behind Nick, at a small table. He would not be able to observe her again without being obvious. So, he amused himself by watching the other patrons of the terminal as they hurried past. Finally, finishing the last of his favorite Aussie Shiraz, Nick got up and gathered his jacket, pulled some money out of his wallet to leave as a tip, and turned to see what the red headed black woman was doing. She was watching him as well. Neither looked away. She was eating some African dish he would never have dared to try. Her comfort level with the strange food was telling. She was probably from Africa, he guessed, or maybe one of those wannabe Africans who had never been to the continent but heavily identified with it, thinking it was their homeland, until Ancestory.com informed them they were from somewhere else. Scotland, maybe? He didn’t smile, but the idea amused him. She didn’t smile either, and dropped her fork.

  Ha! He still had the mojo, he thought as he smirked and turned to walk away. Poker players would call that slip a “tell”; she forgot about her fork as they stared at each other and dropped it. It had been a long time since a woman had noticed him, hell, even noticed he was alive. JoAnn was ass deep in her career and had little time for his emotional needs or issues. Since he’d announced his decision to commit to this mission, she was cooler than ever before. Maybe the workouts had changed his appearance more than he’d realized. Too bad this woman was so young, and in an airport. Too young, really, no happy ending here. He walked off.

 

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