21 Shades of Night, page 141
I opened the paper, scanning over the local news before settling on the daily horoscopes. “Other than this poor guy murdered down by the dock, things are looking pretty good.” I grimaced at the description of his slashed throat. “Here’s mine: Swimming in the deep waters of your own imagination can be a luxurious and refreshing experience. However, it's critical to understand that an inner symbolic journey might trigger a deep longing for meaning that cannot be easily found in the outer world.” Reading the horoscope was our daily tradition.
“Such a Pisces.”
I shrugged and left the paper on the top of the counter to greet my first customer of the day. “How are you today, Mr. Johnson?”
“Wonderful, Nadya. You?”
“I can’t complain,” I replied, smiling. I kept my eyes trained on Mr. Johnson and not out the glass the door where I’d seen the flash of Liam Caldwell’s black car arriving in the parking lot.
“Weather should be perfect for your flight today.”
“Yep, weatherman said everything should be clear blue skies.”
He strode in with quiet confidence and I stole a glance in his direction. He paid no attention to his surroundings, his eyes firmly cast down at the newspaper he carried. My goal was to get something—anything—out of him.
After double checking the paperwork, I finished up so I could give Mr. Caldwell my full attention. “See you this afternoon, Mr. Johnson, have a safe flight.”
“Thank you, Nadya. Have a good day.”
Mr. Johnson left through the side door, toward the hangars. Each pilot had to check in with me before they departed the airport. We went over any last minute weather issues, scheduling concerns and updated take-off procedures. On a normal day, there was no more than one plane taking off at a time, but safety was our priority. One accident and Pop could lose the whole business.
“Good morning, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Hello,” he said in a quiet voice. He passed over his flight plan and I skimmed the meticulous handwriting. “Everything cleared for my take off at 9 AM?”
“Yes sir; I got your message this morning. Brayden has already been out to ready your plane. You should be able to take off on time.”
“Thank you.”
I located the clipboard and flight plan he needed to sign before leaving the lounge. Instead of handing it to him I took a deep breath and asked, “Headed anywhere exciting today?”
“No,” he replied, checking his watch. “Not particularly.”
“Has to be better than this,” I joked but stopped when his eyes met mine and I felt a cool chill. Okay then. I passed the clipboard over the counter and placed the pen on top. “Please sign here.”
My heart sank when I realized today was not going to be the day for me to break through the wall Liam Caldwell had erected around himself. His exterior was too tough. I needed something to go on. Something personal. I scanned him, searching for anything that could work.
Hair: Neat and tidy.
Jacket: Worn leather, looked soft. And expensive.
Shoes: Same as above.
Jewelry: None. Well—the watch, which again, looked pricey.
Clothing: crisp blue button up, dark jeans. He’d worn this same outfit in a million times before. Too casual for a desk job. Too expensive for something less.
Black leather bag, slung over his shoulder; no tag. Nothing identifiable. He carried it each trip, regardless of how short or long.
Nothing. That’s what I had. No wonder he reminded me of a shadow.
Twice I had noted a variation. The first was several months before, when he arrived with small bruise under his eye. The kind you get from being punched or from walking into a door. A couple of weeks later his knuckles bore red, inflamed scrapes.
Neither of these were anything more than pieces of a puzzle I desperately wanted to solve.
He signed his name, neat and graceful on the form, and laid it on the counter. I’d blown my chance, so I went back to the business of ignoring him, filing away the form and checking the schedule.
“Have a good fli—” I started to say, like I do to every customer, but stopped short when I saw what he was looking at. What he was doing.
His eyes, the blue ones, were staring at my newspaper—at the horoscope page. This was unexpected.
“Um, would you like to take the paper with you?” I asked, moving to hand it to him.
His face jerked upward and our eyes held, longer than ever before. He shook his head and turned quickly, leaving me in shock as he exited the building.
* * *
LIKE ALL OBSESSIONS, the one with Liam Caldwell snuck up on me. One day I was simply trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation with him, to learn a little more about him, and the next I had his entire internet history printed out and hidden in my desk. And by entire history I mean one page, including his driver’s license, pilot’s license, and other paperwork we kept in his file.
Oh, and I might have started taking notes in a small pink notebook with glitter on the cover. At least it wasn’t Monster’s High.
I’d like to say he came in like clockwork. Every two days, carrying the same bag, wearing a trench coat and dark glasses, but that’s not how he operated. His flights were erratic, sometimes lasting for days, and once for two weeks. Each time he charted his small plane into the city. Did he work there? Have an apartment? He listed his employment and employer as himself, chair of the Caldwell Foundation. It sounded classy, but the information I found on it sounded vague. Something research-oriented that became boring two paragraphs in. Plus, it seemed a little odd for a twenty-seven year old to operate a business of such caliber.
His schedule seemed odd, as he often left for several days at once…but then other times his return time was quick. And why not just live in Chicago? Why fly back and forth? The distance was minimal. I had too many questions—none of which were my business.
Yet, I considered a dozen times over the following days, he’d lowered his guard that one time with the paper; I knew it was something I could use. I was sure of it.
“Maybe he just wanted to see if his plane would crash,” Colleen offered during our lunch break the following week. She’d started working at the airport around the same time my mother passed. At first I thought she’d try to mother me—maybe try to take her place. Instead she was more like a crazy aunt that lived in the spare bedroom.
“No, I think it was something more than that.” What that something was I had no idea. I knew I was stretching.
“What’s his sign?”
“Sagittarius.” November 27th, 1988. Colleen raised an eyebrow and I sighed. “I know. Makes sense, right?”
“No wonder he’s so aloof,” she said. Sagittarians are well known for their love of freedom and truth. Rarely committed to someone. Bingo.
I’d started reading my horoscope when I was ten. This was around the time I learned about the rumors following my mother’s death. People in town liked to gossip that she was a witch. Stupid, I know. It wasn’t like we lived two hundred years ago in Salem. But the rumor persisted, and instead of fighting it, I just embraced it. I’d always known my mother had different ideas about life, and in some ways it was comforting. At my lowest points I pretended she died fighting some sort of evil, not from an aneurysm that went off in her brain like a bomb.
Around twelve I began dressing the part—or what I thought was the part. Delving into the miniscule number of occult books at my used book store and whatever I could find online that wasn’t blocked by my father’s security measures. Dark makeup and clothes became my uniform, including the required goth-like dresses and funky boots. Everything had to be black, with a dash of red or purple for color. I was skinny as a rail, no boobs to speak of until later in my teens, so the tighter the fit the better. After a while my father’s strict dating rules were something of a joke. No one wanted to date the witch-freak anyway.
I cornered my friends and demanded to read their palms. I took a glass ball from the garden and a sheet from the linen closet and studied runes on Google. With a flair for the dramatic, I predicted disease and death and romance. I learned all the astrological signs and gave knowing glances when the kids celebrated their birthdays at school. But my main talent was predicting the truth. For some reason I had a sixth sense when it came to lying. I could smell it on a person like coating of sulfur.
Witchcraft, or my lame version of it, was my first true obsession, and even though I moved past the fake parlor tricks, it became a persona I couldn’t shake. When Liam Caldwell looked at that page in the Waukegan paper, it was like a lightning-bolt shot between us. What started off as a simple curiosity, a challenge to get the man to engage had turned into something else. That glance at the newspaper wasn’t a coincidence. I didn’t believe in them.
I had to know more.
“Well, good luck getting cracking him” Colleen said, drinking the remains of her pop.
“From what you’ve told me, getting a Sagittarius to do anything they don’t want to is close to impossible.”
He had flown out that morning without even a glance at the paper I had left visible on top of the counter. Nothing. In fact, he was extra gruff today, uttering only a single grunt when I gave him the paperwork. I didn’t approach him otherwise. Instead I studied him. Searching for something to go on.
His records showed he was in his mid-twenties, but he appeared older—not physically. Maybe wiser? A thin scar slashed through his eyebrow. A thicker one crested his chin.
“Have a good trip,” I said to his back, as he left the building for the tarmac.
* * *
“POP, HOW LONG do you plan on staying tonight?” I asked, packing up my stuff. I learned a long time ago that if I wanted to sleep in my own bed not to wait for my father to leave the airport.
“Just a couple of hours.”
“Colleen left you some food in the microwave. Do you want me to get it for you?”
“No, sweetie, I’m fine. Just finishing up some work.”
I leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He patted my head and I left him there, by the dim lamp light. I locked the door behind me as I exited the building. The empty parking lot felt cool and I tugged my sweater around my shoulders. There was no way to ever get used to the chill that blew off the lake.
I got in my car, an ancient Honda from the mid-80’s, and cranked the heat. Okay, not totally ancient, but it has more years than I do. It’s one of the relics left over from my mother—one of those things neither my father or I could bear to give away. The harsh winter air had cracked the paint over time, leaving rust spots near the taillights, and the heat made the car rattle and shake at stoplights.
My fingers were pressed against the heat vents when a beast of a car sailed through the yellow light. It took a couple seconds to sink in but, the rumble of the muffler shook me to my senses. That was Liam Caldwell’s car.
It did not take more than a couple of seconds for me to decide what to do.
I followed him.
The streets were dark and fairly empty, as it was already past ten. Liam’s car moved swiftly, the muffler echoing with low rumble against the buildings. My car seemed to wheeze and groan each time I accelerated, but I managed to keep him in sight—that is, until he turned into a waterfront neighborhood. I’d been here once before, at a party for a friend from school whose father was very wealthy. The lots were huge, most surrounded by high gates. I followed the red taillights until they disappeared behind evenly spaced, black metal bars. A grand home stood behind the gates.
Pausing the Honda, I peered at the bars, trying to catch a better look at the home, and maybe of Liam himself, but I was unable to see much of the house—no, mansion—at all, other than an imposing stone chimney bathed in moonlight. A call box sat next to the driveway and two cameras were mounted on the fence. Red blinking eyes stared down at me, as if daring me to do something other than gawk.
With a quick glance over my shoulder I pulled away—the cameras enough to scare me off—the last thing I wanted was for Liam to know I’d followed him.
* * *
THE NEXT TIME he came in we had a plan. It was stupid and juvenile, but working at the tiny airport was enough to drive us all batty at times. Colleen, of course, was game.
His car flashed by the front door, going for his usual spot. It was possible he had a case of OCD, something I’d noted more than once in my journal. Same outfits, same perfect hair, same parking space. Rarely, if ever, was there any sort of variation.
Maybe my father was right. Maybe I scared him.
The moment the door swung open I caught Colleen’s eye and she said, “Read mine please.” Her words came out one octave too high but I sat casually behind my counter and pretended everything was normal.
“What sign again?” I asked.
“Leo.”
“Right. Of course.” I smiled, pretending Liam Caldwell wasn’t walking in my direction, aloofness plastered, as usual, on his face. I read the horoscope out loud. “You could have an amazing vision today, and by exercising patience and follow-through you might even be able to produce something special.”
Colleen nodded. “I had been thinking about painting my bathroom.”
“Sounds like the perfect day to do it.”
Liam approached my counter and I flashed him a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Caldwell.”
“Hello.”
“Beautiful day, don’t you think? Colleen and I were just reading our horoscopes.” I swallowed my nerves and asked, “Want me to read yours?”
He blinked, as if seeing me for the first time. “Excuse me?”
I held up the paper and kept on the fake smile. “Your horoscope. Want me to read it? I know it’s silly but it’s something we do to pass the time.”
“Uh…” He frowned, eyebrows pulling tight together. For the first time he appeared unsure. Just for a moment. Then his face returned a normal, blank expression. “Just the paperwork please.”
I handed over the clipboard and read the horoscope out loud anyway. “The day's events might not cooperate by falling in line with your planned agenda today, but divergence only becomes problematic if you are overly concerned about exercising your authority.”
The frown reappeared and Liam scratched his jaw with the end of the pen. “Are you reading that to me?”
“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “Sagittarius, right?”
“Yes, uh, how…”
“Oh well, I have your birthdate on your file here, with your license and stuff.”
This time his eyebrows shot upward. I’d triggered his stalker alert. Shit.
Like divine intervention my weather radar started beeping and a report printed from the computer. I snatched the sheet from the tray and skimmed it. “Looks like storms are coming in this afternoon.” My fingers grazed Liam’s as I gave him the report and a shiver ran down my spine.
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I won’t be flying back in this afternoon.”
“No?” I asked, hoping to drag this conversation out. It was the longest one we’d ever had.
“No.”
Okay then.
“Have a good flight. Let me know if you need anything.”
He turned to leave without another word.
* * *
THE SLASH OF lightning and rumble of thunder almost made me miss the signal coming from the Flight Services Station. Colleen and I were in the middle of an intense game of poker when my father called out from his office.
“We’ve got a plane coming in.”
“Did you tell them no?” I asked, dropping my cards on the table. “There was no one on the schedule!” The sound of rain overhead beat like a drum against the steel roof. It was only 4 PM but the sky was dark gray. Coming in during a storm like was suicide.
“It’s Liam Caldwell—I’m not sure he takes no for an answer,” Pop answered, tugging on his rain jacket.
“Pop! Don’t go out there,” I shouted, chasing him to the door. The crash of lightning drowned out my voice. It didn’t matter, he’d already run out the building, walkie-talkie at his ear, calling Brayden to meet him at the hangar.
I rushed across the building to the control room. Daniel, a man close to my father’s age who managed the flight plans, hovered over his monitor. “He’s crazy,” I said, more to myself than Daniel. I settled in next to him and watched the greenish blips representing Liam’s plane as he approached.
Fifteen minutes later, the plane was on track to land according to the monitor. A quick glance out the window showed no sign of the plane—but the visibility was next to nothing. My stomach twisted. “Do you think he’ll make it?” I asked Daniel.
“Mr. Caldwell is an excellent pilot.”
I wanted to believe him, fearful of what would happen to Liam or to any of us if there was a plane crash at the airport. Before I could think too hard on it, the nose of his plane pushed through the steel gray sky. The plane’s wings bobbed up and down, a sign he had little control.
“He’s going to crash,” I whispered.
He landed hard, wheels skidding to a desperate stop toward the hangar where my father and Brayden waited. I covered my eyes and waited, but the crash never came. I blinked and saw the plane sideways on the tarmac.
“Told you,” Daniel said, with a relieved grin. “Mr. Caldwell is an excellent pilot.”
My heart hadn’t stopped racing, fear being replaced by rage. How dare he risk the safety of the airport on something so insane! I’d told him about the weather before he’d left that morning. He’d been warned and completely ignored me. My father could have been killed.
I stood, knocking my chair back and left the room. I walked past Colleen and two of the maintenance guys waiting out the storm and marched outside.
“Nadya,” Colleen called. I let the door swing shut behind me.
I avoided as many puddles as I could, but more than once I stepped in water ankle deep. The cool rain soaked my boots and then my socks. I ran toward the plane, which was still on the runway. I spotted my father and Brayden’s fiery red hair at the pilot’s door and I raced toward them.
