Silver Death

Pictures with Crimson

By the time I make it to the city the sun is dipping behind buildings. Stopping in a store and asking directions for the airport I make my way down the road.

Taking a look at the girl in the passport photo I question who she actually is and if she's still alive before changing to look like her. Customs go by slowly, the tickets I've bought will allow me to go from here to Paris to Montreal to Regina. My arms prove a difficulty to go through metal detectors until I explain that I have a fake limb and they wave me through. There will be a car in Canada under the name Jessica Rice, probably in long term storage.

The intercoms light flashes on, "Flight 368 to Paris now boarding."

Getting in the line I pull up my hood, and try not to attract any attention. Only when I'm at the front of the line does someone talk to me. "Ticket?" Handing it over the stewardess nods me on the plane and I sit in my seat. My hands are in leather mitts, making it seem like I'm cold and not hiding anything. I'm on an isle seat and there's no one beside me. Once the plane is in the air I pretend to sleep.

There's so many people here, I'm sure that if I drop my fake face someone might recognize me as the killer I truly am.

Halfway through the flight the seat belt sign must have come on because the person on the end of the row I'm in wakes me "put on your seatbelt."
Shoving it on I try to pretend to fall back asleep but something is bothering me. The man didn't even flinch when he touched my arm. Glancing over I see him yawn and rub his eyes, must have just dismissed it as a sleep induced hallucination.

The turbulence it brutal, a child screams and cries, people yell. But not the man in my row, his knuckles are white as he holds the arm rest, eyes closed, breathing deeply trying to calm himself. Knowing the name that's on my passport I call over and lean to bump him with a pillow "hey, my names Alice, Alice Green."
"Max, why are you talking to me?"
"You look scared, just trying to distract you."
"Oh, well thanks I guess. Where you headed?"
"I have a layover in Paris before going to Montreal."
"Canadian or visiting?"
Not knowing I say "Canadian. How bout you, where you headed?"
"Home actually."
"You live in Paris?"
"No, in Scotland but Paris is the best way back for me. I have family every where."
"Ah," he seems calmer now. Keep him talking "what's your favourite thing about home?"
He looks taken aback by my question "the feel of it. What about you, what do you enjoy the most?"
Smiling like a normal would, "the people, I live in a small town. I know most of the population by first name."
"And the rest?"
"By Mrs. or Mr."
"Close to any of them?"
"A few, close friends are hard to come by sometimes."
"Yah, I know what you mean." The turbulence seems to be over, the seatbelt light goes off. "Any siblings?"
"Only child. You?"
"Youngest of three, always the one to be blamed."
"That must be horrible. Why are you in Russia?"
"Family purposes. My great Aunt passed, went to her funeral."
Funerals, I've cause a few. "My condolences."
"Not needed, I wasn't close to her. Only met her once when I was five."
"Oh, well why did you go then. If you don't mind me asking."
He laughs "not a problem, I went for my mother. She lived with her. Made sure she was healthy."
"Ah. Well it was nice talking to you but I think I'm going to go back to sleep. I have a few different planes after this one."

He smiles before telling me he would wake me when we land.

Leaning back against my seat and pulling my knees to my chest I actually sleep.

I can hear a little boy talking to someone 'we're in seats W7 and W8. We can't lose are seats.' I don't know who he is but a name comes to mind. Nathaniel, Nathaniel with the needles.