Chapter 9

Written by: Jasmine Groves

“Jenna, now isn’t the time for questions,” Nick sighed.

Right on cue a disconnected voice called out across the sound system, called all passengers in rows M to J to start boarding flight SU 2579 through gate 36.

“Nick, you can’t avoid this, I have blood on my hands, I don’t know what’s happening to my mum and up until 15 minutes ago you were my uncle,” her voice pitched higher. “And now, now! If you are to be believed, you are my FATHER.”

“Sorry, Jenna, I didn’t want to have to do this.” Before she could phrase another sound, blackness engulfed her.

Jenna’s head was heavy and her neck stiff, when she gradually opened her eyes. Where am I? How did I get here? These were two thoughts that were becoming far to frequent for her liking.

She tried to stand up, and was tugged straight back down; feeling confused she looked down and saw a seatbelt clasped tightly across her midriff.

Still groggy and confused she looked to her right. She just about choked as she gasped. Nick was sitting there; framed against the plane window, smiling at her, as below they flew over the ocean.

“Breathe, Jenna. I couldn’t let your performance go on, how many times did I have to tell you to trust me?” Nick looked right into her eyes. The now familiar menacing look filled them again. His shoulders rose in a sigh. “Jenna, just relax, we are on the plane, and we are making plans to get to Russia.”

 

The start of a grin formed on his lips. “A new city, a new you… an architecture course. You can re-write your life. Become anyone you want.”

A thought blazed through Jenna’s mind. Any one she wanted? Could she redefine her life, leave the mistakes in the past and start a new life?

Surely she couldn’t be safe; they would hunt her down. Cold sweat trickled down her spine. Would the police really give up chasing her?

He was so quietly calm and confident, he just continued to sit there, not moving, not saying a word. Jenna was being torn apart with thoughts coming and going quicker than she had time to examine them.

Everything about him was calm, the clothes smart, his appearance faultless. How on earth had he managed to get her onto the plane? While she was not heavy she was also not light.

He appeared like perfection, completely and utterly unruffled by their escape. Who was Nick, who was Adrian, and for that matter who was she?

A voice interrupted her thoughts. A figure stood looking down at her from the aisle. “Zdravstvuyte, chem mogu pomoch'?” a Russian voice said.

Jenna raised her eyes. In the dimly lit cabin it did not strike her at first; the breath caught in her throat. Even with the wig, the cap and the heavy makeup, she recognised the woman.

Her own Russian voice replied, “Privet, mama.”