by Geoffrey A. Hamell
(Originally published in "The Eagle Hill Sentinel" Issue 1, June 1985)
The plane shook slightly, causing luggage to slide and bump. Burke Devlin frowned, noting the alarmed faces on some of the other passengers. After a moment the voice came over the intercom:
"This is your captain speaking. We are encountering some minor turbulence, as the weatherman predicted. There is no cause for alarm. Please remain in your seats. We expect to reach Belem in a little under ninety minutes. Again, there is no cause for alarm."
Burke stared out the window, watching the dark clouds roll past. The weather suited his mood. He had hated leaving Collinsport at a time like this, hated leaving Vicki. But his Brazilian holding could be lost if he didn't act quickly.
David had acted so strange when he said goodbye - as though he never expected to see him again. The boy had been so upset over Woodard's death. Was it really fear for Burke's safety he felt...or did he think he himself would die before Burke returned? Or - the frightening thought suddenly struck him - did the sad, listless child plan to die...?
For the hundredth time lately, he wondered if he were David's father.
At the heart of it all, somehow, was Barnabas. Burke unconsciously tightened his lips in a snarl, just thinking of him. Barnabas had employed Willie, who had kidnapped Maggie. Barnabas had filled Vicki, his Vicki, with these crazy ideas about Josette. Woodard had voiced suspicions so bizarre the doctor had dared not spell them out...
Burke knew they were the same weird ideas that had occured to him - ideas that his respect for himself as a rational 20th century man would not allow him to take seriously. Yet there was something about Collinwood that seemed to resist the 20th century. (Memories from years ago teased at his brain - a dark shape that had lunged from the forest, a woman of mystery whose face eluded him...Had they really been what he recalled? Had they really existed?
"I think of our relationship as a duel," Barnabas had said; and he, half accusingly, had replied, "To lose a duel with you would be to lose everything."
"But isn't that the purpose of a duel," Barnabas said, pistol in hand, as he paced to the opposite end of the lawn. The chill evening winds tugged at his long hair, caused his cape to flutter.
"That is certainly worthy of a toast," said Barnabas, and fired.)
A suitcase toppled from the rack, hitting the floor with a crash. Burke woke with a start, instantly aware that the plane was tilted at a dangerous angle. A little boy across the aisle was wailing.
"Please remain in your seats," the captain's voice repeated tonelessly. "Everything is under control. There is no need for alarm."
"The hell there isn't!" Burke exclaimed. Leaping from his seat, he hurried down the aisle, keeping his balance with difficulty as the plane shifted and shook. At the door to the pilot's cabin, he confronted a stewardess. "What's the matter in there?" he snapped.
Pale, distracted, she spared him only a brief, "I don't know, sir." Turning back to the cabin door, she pounded frantically. "Fred! Alex! Why did you lock the door? Why won't you answer me?!"
"Stand aside," said Burke, roughly pulling her out of the way. Squaring his broad shoulders, he hurled himself violently against the door. On the third try it swung inward, and he pitched heavily into the cabin.
The captain and the co-pilot sat motionless in their seats, faces blank, eyes glassy, oblivious to the dark mountain rushing up to destroy them. "Please remain in your seats," the captain said woodenly, not looking at the microphone. "Everything is under control. There is no need for alarm."
In the seconds before they hit, Burke had time to spot the little round holes in each man's throat...
