Part 11 (2/2)
”He says he heard a rat in the luggage bin,” the first attendant reported.
”A rat?”
”I didn't say a rat,” I protested. ”I said I heard something. Something scratching.”
People three rows in front and behind me were awake and looking at us. The word rat skittered from row to row.
”What do you think we should do?” the first attendant asked.
”Open the bin,” the second attendant replied.
”What if there's a rat in there like he says?”
The first attendant took another a.s.sessment of me. ”You're certain you heard it?”
”I'm sure I heard something.”
She put her hand on the bin, not to open it, but to keep it from opening. Then she put her ear close to it.
”I don't hear anything,” she said.
”Neither did I,” the first attendant said.
Without taking her hand off the bin, the black-haired flight attendant asked if anybody else had heard scratching noises. If they had, n.o.body admitted it.
She thought a moment. ”All right. Here's what we'll do.”
She sent the first attendant to get a large trash bag. Then, she had everyone sitting within three rows of the bin get out of their seats and move a safe distance away. To protests the length of the plane, she had the lights turned on. Then she informed the pilot they might have a rat in a luggage bin. Within minutes the copilot was present to oversee the plan.
”Ready?” the second attendant asked.
With the first attendant holding the trash bag, the plan was to open the bin and brush anything that moved into the bag. Taking a linebacker stance, the copilot stood at one end of the bin. The second attendant would open the bin and man the opposite side.
”On three.”
The pilot and bag-holding attendant indicated they were ready.
”One . . . two . . . three!”
The door to the bin flew open.
A gray streak fairly flew out of the bin and into the trash bag. People jumped. Gasped. m.u.f.fled screams.
”I got it!” the first attendant shouted, closing the bag with a stranglehold.
Something definitely was in the bag. But it wasn't moving. The attendant held up the bag to get a better look at it.
”Let me see,” the copilot said.
She handed him the bag.
The copilot instructed people to step back. He looked inside the bag. His face registered disgust. He reached into the bag. A woman pa.s.senger squealed in protest. Ignoring her, the copilot pulled the rat out of the bag by its tail.
A gray, plush toy rat with big eyes and a silly grin.
”It appears we do indeed have a rat on board,” he said. ”Only it's a pa.s.senger.”
He tossed the toy at me. I caught it.
For the next hour I stood in a corner of the back galley and endured the scorn of pa.s.sengers, flight attendants, the copilot, and the pilot, who left the c.o.c.kpit to lecture me on why there was no place for practical jokes on commercial flights.
I heard most of it. When I wasn't listening I was thinking about what else was in the overhead bin with the plush toy rat-a Los Angeles Angels sports bag and ball cap, and a child's backpack decorated with angel wings.
When I was finally allowed to return to my seat, I avoided eye contact with the other pa.s.sengers, buckled into my seat, folded my arms, and closed my eyes, though sleep was the farthest thing from my mind.
It wasn't five minutes later that I heard it again.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
Same sound coming from the same bin.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
I ignored it. I didn't care if the whole plane was crawling with rats.
Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.
Through half-opened eyes I saw a demon fall out of the bottom of the bin and plop onto the back of a seat. It was the same kind of creature I'd seen in Myles Shepherd's office, a three-dimensional spirit resembling a gargoyle.
It looked at me, then jumped onto the chest of the man next to the window with heavy jowls. He appeared to be asleep. The demon clung to the man's s.h.i.+rt, looked at me again, then clawed its way into the man's chest.
I looked around me, hoping that someone else had seen what I'd just seen. No one had. Those who weren't sleeping were glaring at me and shaking their heads with disgust.
The man next to the window moaned and squirmed with a pained expression, but he didn't wake up.
In the front of the plane a man was excusing himself as he stepped over the other pa.s.sengers in his row, making his way to the aisle.
It was Myles Shepherd.
He looked at me. Nodded. Smiled.
Turning his back, he made his way to the front lavatory.
I bolted from my seat, but was held in place by the seat belt. Clutching frantically at the latch, I freed myself and charged up the aisle.
A few rows in front of me a woman got up, blocking the aisle. She just stood there.
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