Finding Lily. Vivacia Ahwen K.

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       PROLOGUE

       Weathering the Storm

      Ow! My head smacks hard against the cold window, jarring me back to the present. The one in which our plane is wobbling? Yes, that present. My eyes, which are rarest glasz, according to my once-upon-a-not-boyfriend, pop open and I take it all in. The sky is grey, and Virgin Airlines flight 169 is no longer just a big bird soaring above the clouds. We are in the thick of something dreadful. It so makes sense that, when I finally almost escape from Dorian Holder’s enormous, far-reaching grasp, my plane’s going to crash.

      Yikes.

      Hey, what happened to Mr and Mrs Green, the lovey-dovey newlyweds who were annoying me so much with their joy and fondling when I first boarded? I would appreciate any company right now. They must’ve gotten bumped up to first class while I was busy ruminating. How’d I miss that? Hope their complimentary champagne just spilled all over their laps on this last lurch. Holy hell.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ The pilot’s voice is supposed to reassure us, I know, but there’s enough of a quaver in his tone to make me even more concerned, especially now that the plane has started to quake in earnest.

      Also, the intercom is crackling more than it ought to be.

      Like I know, though. This is, after all, my first flight.

      Why am I so calm, then? Obviously, if we’re going down, I’m not going to heaven. Which would make Dorian right, as usual.

       You can’t get away, Lily.

      Also, I wasn’t paying close attention when those two bookend attendants went over the emergency procedures. Would they go through them again? Please say yes. That interpretive dance with the entrances, exits, et al? What if I couldn’t figure out how to put on my oxygen mask, or if I got the only flotation device that wouldn’t expand?

       Que sera, sera.

      Perhaps ‘disappearing’ would be a relief, a blessing in disguise. Everything comes to an end.

      Oh, well. It was a good run. Things got interesting in my final month of life. That’s what they’ll say at my eulogy. She was generally a mousy little thing, never known to rock the boat. But things got interesting in Lily Dewitt’s final month of life …

      Our plane bucks in agreement with my grim fantasies. Rather than screams and panic, there is a stillness among us humble passengers as we await our collective fate.

      You don’t fuck with the gods, and you sure as hell don’t distract the Virgin 169 flight staff when they’re trying to keep you mellow.

      ‘We’re experiencing some turbulence,’ Captain Peterson explains, stating the obvious. ‘Please do not panic. You’re in good hands, people.’

      How comforting.

      Never СКАЧАТЬ