This is the final boarding call for Flight 2039.
'That plane has to crash into Australia,' Fertility says. 'I'm never wrong.'
A security guard shouts, 'Freeze.'
We repeat, this is the last boarding call for Flight 2039 to Sydney.
Security has us surrounded when the urn comes open. The mortal remains of Trevor Hollis going everywhere. Ashes to ashes. Into everybody's eyes. Dust to dust. Into their lungs. Trevor's ashes spread in a cloud around us. Adam's gun thuds on the carpet.
Before Fertility, before the security team, before the plane can leave the jetway, I grab the gun. I grab Fertility. Okay, okay, okay, okay, we'll do this her way, I say with the gun against her head.
I walk us backward toward the gate.
I yell, Nobody make a move.
I stop to let the ticket agent tear her ticket, then I nod toward the open urn and the mess of Trevor all over the carpet.
Could somebody maybe scoop that stuff up and hand it to this woman here, I say. It's her brother.
The security team is all crouched with their guns aimed at my forehead while a ticket agent gets most of Trevor back into the urn and hands it to Fertility.
'Thanks,' Fertility says. 'This is so embarrassing.'
We're getting on this plane, I say, and we're taking off.
I walk us backward down the jetway, wondering who on board will be the real crazed hijacker.
When I ask Fertility, she laughs.
When I ask why, she says, 'This is just too ironic. You'll guess soon enough who the hijacker is.'
I say, Tell me.
People on the plane are all crowded into the back half of the plane, cowering with their heads down. Sobbing. In the aisle near the cockpit is a pile of everybody's wallets and watches and personal laptop computers, cellular phones, minicassette recorders, personal compact disc stereos, and wedding rings.
People are really trained.
As if this has anything to with them.
As if this has anything to do with money.
I tell the flight crew to secure the cabin doors. It's not as if I haven't been on a lot of planes going stadium to stadium. I say, Prepare the cabin for takeoff.
In the seats closest to us are a fat Pakistani-looking business-suit guy. A couple white college-looking guys. A Chinese-looking guy.
I ask Fertility, Which one? Who's the real hijacker?
She's kneeling next to the pile of offerings and picks through it, pocketing a nice woman's watch and a pearl necklace. 'Figure it out yourself, Sherlock,' she says.
She says, 'I'm just an innocent hostage here,' and she snaps a diamond tennis bracelet around her wrist.
I shout, Everybody, you should please stay calm, but you need to know that a dangerous killer terrorist is on board this flight and plans to crash it.
Somebody screams.
I say, Shut up. Please.
I tell everybody, Until I find out who's the terrorist, everybody just stay down.
Fertility takes a diamond solitaire out of the offerings and slips it on her finger.
I say, One of you is a hijacker. I don't know which one, but someone here is planning to crash this plane.
Fertility just keeps giggling.
There's the terrible feeling I'm missing some huge joke.
I say, Everybody just stay relaxed.
I tell the steward to go up front and talk to the captain. I don't want to hurt anybody, but I really need to get out of this country. We need to take off and then land somewhere safe, someplace between here and Australia. Then everybody is going to disembark.
To Fertility laughing next to me, I say even she's getting off.
We're going to complete this trip, I say, but just me and a single pilot. And as soon as we're airborne the second time, I say, I'll let that pilot parachute.
I ask, Is that clear?
And the steward with the gun pointed in his face says, Yes.
This plane is going to crash in Australia, I say, and only one person is going to die.
And it starts to dawn on me.
Maybe there is no other real hijacker.
Maybe I'm the hijacker.
Around us, people have started to whisper. They've recognized me. I'm the mass murderer on television. I'm the Antichrist.
I'm the hijacker.
And I start to laugh.
I ask Fertility, You set me up, didn't you?
And still laughing she says, 'A little.'
And still laughing I ask if she's really pregnant.
And still laughing she says,' 'Fraid so, but for honest I didn't see it coming. It's still a bona fide miracle.'
The cabin doors whump shut, and the plane starts creeping backward from the terminal.
'Here,' she says. 'All your life, you've needed other people to tell you what to do, your family, your church, your bosses, your caseworker, the agent, your brother ... '
She says, 'Well, nobody can help you with this situation.'
She says, 'All I know is that you will find a way out of this mess. You'll find a way to leave your whole screwed-up life story behind. You'll be dead to the whole world.'
The jet engines start their whine, and Fertility hands me a man's gold wedding band.
'And after you can tell your life story and walk away from it,' Fertility says, 'after that we'll start a new life together and live happily ever after.'
Somewhere en route to Port Vila in the New Hebrides, for my last meal I serve dinner the way I've always dreamed.
Anybody caught buttering their bread before breaking it, I promise to shoot them.
Anybody who drinks their beverage with food still in their mouth will also be shot.
Anybody caught spooning toward themself will be shot.
Anybody caught without a napkin in their lap—
Anybody caught using their fingers to move their food—
Anybody who begins eating before everybody is served—
Anybody who blows on food to cool it—
Anybody who talks with food in their mouth—
Anybody who drinks white wine holding their glass by the bowl or drinks red wine holding their glass by the stem—
You will each of you get a bullet in the head.
We are 30,000 feet above the earth, going 455 miles per hour. We're at a pinnacle of human achievement, and we are going to eat this meal as civilized human beings.
And so here is my confession. Testing, testing, one, two, three.
And according to Fertility, if I could only figure out how I could escape. I could escape being up here. I could escape the crash. I could escape being Tender Branson. I could escape the police. I could escape my past, my whole twisted, burning, miserable, snarled story of my life so far.
Fertility said, the trick was to just tell people the story of how I got to this point, and I'd figure a way out.
