The Sweaty Man

This one kind of goes with the prompt I just posted. It's a story I wrote a while back about going to somewhere new, and meeting a really strange person on the plane ride there. You guys could use this prompt, too. If you need inspiration... read on.

By Kaitlin Gray

                As I took my seat on my first plane to California, I noticed an unusually sweaty man seated to my left.

                We sat by each other in an awkward silence for a matter of minutes. As the wheels of the plane started to turn, and we began to lift off the ground, I felt my stomach do a turn and get the oddest little butterflies.

                After about 15 minutes of relaxing flying time, I pulled out a book from my carry-on bag. It was a long flight from Mobile, Alabama to Turlock, California… might as well enjoy it with a good book.

                The man looked over at me, and I could feel his beady eyes on me. Nervously, I pretended to read, even though the feeling of his eyes on me kept me from being able to concentrate. In fact, it was quite annoying. I set the book down and returned the stare.

                His eyes were cold and black, as if hiding from a dark secret. His face was pale and he was still sweating. I could tell something was on his mind, and I could tell he was afraid by his frightened expression. He looked down at the ground, and I remained examining his weary figure.

                “I know this is supposed to be a secret, but I absolutely must tell someone…” He said.

                I was taken aback by his comment, unable to meet his eyes. Why me? I didn’t even know this man… It was so strange a thing to say to an unfamiliar old lady such as I. He said it with such penance, a sigh escaping his lips more than once. I looked away from his whole figure, looking out the window and into the white fluffy clouds.

Turning back towards him I cleared my throat in a gesture as to say, “Continue.” He took a deep breath.

“It was 1974. The year I graduated with a Doctorate from college. I thought it was going to be the best day of my life. After all, I had just gotten married the week before and me and my wife were getting ready to leave on our honeymoon. We stayed for the ceremony… Oh, how proud she was of me.” His face darkened. “We were on our way home… she was laughing and hugging me… I was in such a great mood.” Tears began to fall from his deep sunken eyes. He lowered his head and buried it into his chest. I just listened.

“These men—these horrible, horrible men—they came for her.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if someone might be listening. “They took me. In all black at night, I had no idea they were even there. They held a gun to my back, though my wife couldn’t see. Told her… told her they wanted to congratulate me and interview me for a job. She was so happy for me… she went back to the car and allowed the men to bring me with them. Neither of us had any idea… I was so scared.” 

I couldn’t even begin to comprehend the value of what this man was telling me. A murder mystery… this is what I worked with every day. Still, I couldn’t believe what this man was doing… telling these things to a stranger. I didn’t know what to say, what to do. I just watched him as he cried so many doleful, bemoaning tears. I put my hand on his back, in a strange attempt to comfort the poor fellow.

“They told me…” He paused. It was hard to understand his whisper through his sobs, but I tried to be as attentive as possible in order to help this man. “They threatened me with my life. The one man, the tallest of the three, he told me my wife needed to die, and that I needed to kill her. They said I needed to make it look like a car crash. And if I didn’t kill her, they would kill me too.

“To ensure my survival, I played along. I didn’t want to die… I was too scared… I didn’t know what to do.”

He wept harder than ever now. I didn’t know what to do, or what more he would tell me. I was so shocked upon hearing this story, it was intriguing to me, although the involment of death made me sick to my stomach. It hit me then just who I was looking at; a murderer. A poor, pain stricken, abused murderer—but a killer none the less.

“So, I let her drive. I told her to drive me down the exact road they had told me to, made her stop at the exact light, and then…” he could barely move, let alone talk. I didn’t know when he would speak again, had no idea of the pains he was feeling. It was heart wrenching, and painful to see, and yet the story was one I couldn’t let go. “And then I shot her.” He spat the word out as if it were poison, and that word alone held so much agony it was unbearable. “I wrecked the car into the side of a building, got out and walked to the end of the road, and dropped the gun down a sewer at the end of the street. Upon returning to my car I drank a cup of beer as they had instructed, in order to sound like I was actually in a real car accident. I dialed 911 and told them my wife had fallen asleep at the wheel.”

I knew now that that was the end of his story. I was immobile; I couldn’t believe the surrealness of my situation. I had so many questions, I didn’t even know where to begin. I was starting to feel my company was rude, and I wanted to comfort the fatigued traveler. I started with the biggest question on my mind, unable to change the subject of the murder.

“Why are you telling me this?” It was the first thing I had said to him, and he was stunned by my sudden outburst. He looked up, however he just kept crying. His eyes were now pink as rubies; and they blazed like deep forests.

“You knew my wife, and I know you.”

My heart dropped and my arm felt like an anchor. My eyes got as wide as ever, and my jaw dropped a little. The shock must have shown on my face, as the man almost chuckled a little. Almost. My whole brain stopped entirely, and the questions from earlier dropped like flies.

“My wife was Chief Nish. As I believe, she was your partner for quite some time.”

I gasped, and immediately felt embarrassed as to how loud it was. Eyes started to glance toward me, and I began to slide down in my seat. The man wiped away his tears and sat up, as if nothing had happened. I looked out the window for a few minutes, and when I looked back the eyes had left our presence. I could tell the man had been in these kind of situations a lot, and he knew how to hide his emotions.

I remembered perfectly the last time I saw her. That was in 1974, like the man had said. It was 1995 now, over 21 years later. And yet, I still wondered about her. Now I knew.

She was the best cop I had ever met, and the most fun, bubbly person to work with. She had the most down-to-earth personality, and oh how pretty she was back in those days… I remember picking up the phone one day and hearing her husband talk on the phone. Even then, all that time ago, he held the same nervous qualities.

“Hello, Officer Stover. This is Melanie’s husband.”

“Oh, hey Stephen. How are you?”

“Melanie and I will be moving soon. She flew to Washington last night upon hearing that her father had died of a stroke. I just wanted you to know, she won’t be able to work for you anymore. She sends her regrets and wishes you and the team the best of luck, but she needs to be with family right now.” It was such a good lie, and a believable story. Yet, even then I had my doubts. He sounded too formal and nervous for truth. Back then, I figured it was because of the family tragedy. Now I knew otherwise.

“Well, do you need help packing? We’d love to come over and—“

“No. We’re fine. We didn’t have much stuff, you know. Plus, we were getting ready to move anyway so I have most of the stuff already—“

“Oh, by the way I forgot to ask about the honeymoon. How was it?”

“Oh. It was great. I’m in kind of a stressful situation right now, and I really do need to go.” He paused. “My, that’s Melanie now.”

“Okay well send her my deepest regrets, and let her know we are all thinking of her and sorry to see her go.” I said.

“Will do.” And then, he hung up.

It all made so much sense now… why no one ever heard from her again… the only thing was, how come the police were never informed of the crash?

I began to get worried, sweating myself a bit. How did he know it was me? How did he find me, here, right now? Why would he tell me all of this even though he knew who I was?

Three men in expensive looking black-suits walked down the aisle to talk to us. They must’ve gotten permission, as I didn’t see any flight attendants complaining.

“Read your book.” The man whispered, before picking up a magazine himself.

“How are you two doing this fine afternoon?” The tallest man said, in a very deep, intimidating voice. He gestured to give the man seated next to me a high-five, and as I looked through the corner of my eye, I saw them exchange a gun carefully hidden in the taller man’s sleeve.

“I—or should I say, we—just wanted to stop by and say hi. Haven’t seen you in forever, Stephen. Can’t believe we actually chanced to meet you here. Jeff, here, saw you when he got up to go to the bathroom. We decided to all come over and chat for a bit.”

“How ya been, Stevie?” The shortest of the three asked.

“Great, actually.” Stephen replied.

The tall one spoke again. “Well, we’d better get going before the flight attendants bite our heads off. We’re just…” He held up his pointer finger, pretending to count the rows of the plane. “… five rows down if you want to talk to us again later. After all, this is a pretty big plane.” He winked, nonchalantly. “Nice seeing you again, old chum.” He patted his back, hard I might add, before walking away.

He buried his head, once more, before letting out a deep sigh and another few minutes of tears.

“Did you see the gun?” He asked, fright evident in his voice.

“Yes.” I said, incapable to say anything more.

“They use me as their assassin. I have a parachute hidden in my carry on, as do those men. They are going to go shoot the pilot and the co-pilot right now. As the plane begins to crash toward the earth, I’m supposed to shoot you everywhere but the heart or the brain, so that you suffer worse than anyone else. You, as well as all the others, are supposed to die.”

“Why?” My voice was hardly a whisper, and now the fear was marked in my voice.

“They’re terrorists… who knows why? I ask them all the time, but they won’t tell me. I asked them that same question, that one word, when they told me to kill my wife. I just can’t believe I’m a part of them… I’m so evil.”

I didn’t know how to comfort him, not in the slightest.

“I want you to take the parachute, and I’ll go down will the others.” I didn’t want him to die, but I knew it would be a better fate than whatever those men would do to him. I also didn’t want to survive, and seem selfish by accepting the parachute, but when it was between life and death… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

He reached underneath his seat, and took out the backpack carry-on with the parachute inside of it. He stretched forth his hand, and although my heart was pounding, I hesitantly took the backpack, unsure if he would change his mind and ask for it back. “You aren’t evil. You’re brave. Thank you, Stephen. Thank you.” After I had spoken, 4 gunshots rang heavy in the plane. Everyone went silent, and terror like never before masked each man, woman, and child’s face.

“Wait, but what about them?” I asked, insecure about Stephen’s future.

“They have already jumped out.” He breathed, as to not disturb the silence. “They said they would as soon as they took care of the captain.”

“How am I supposed to get out?”

“The same way they did. Jump out the door right next to the pilot’s quarters. It’s probably still open.”

I gave him a hug, and a kiss. He deserved it after the life he’d been through. I hopped into the aisle of the plane, with tears in my eyes. “I’ll bring your name justice, I promise. Those men will die if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Thank you.” Stephen said. And that’s the last thing I ever heard him say.