The Layover

They all looked up attentively. Craning their necks to discern the truth of the situation. Facsimiles of strange meerkats. Vigilant. Impatient. The energy in the room was twisted out of kilter. Something was happening, but no one knew what shape it would take, let alone what it was. The uncertainty created a vile razor edge that would draw blood and poison its host. It wasn’t a question of if. Only when.

When.

All the flights in the small airport were delayed. The old and obsolete TV was the oracle of the delays, but between the lines was worse.

“They’ll cancel them next.”

The doomsayer was a middle-aged bloke gone to seed. He looked like he’d been like this ever since childhood. Overweight in a lazy and unsightly manner. Bald patch surrounded by a circle of hair that looked for all the world like it was trying to run away from the scene of the explosion.

There were some grunts of affirmation. There were also death stares and tuts. It wasn’t on to bring the fates’ attention to an even worse eventuality. Life was bad enough as it was without summoning further woe and tragedy.

The huddle of people fell back into an ominous silence and eventually there was a collective groan as each of the flights flickered out from delayed and sported a cancelled label. This elicited more death stares and tuts. The balding man was deemed to blame. Their scapegoat. Given half a chance, there would be a sacrifice this night.

No one was here for the place itself. This airport was a convenience. A layover on the way to a desirable destination. A cheaper alternative. A necessary evil. 

“What now?” asked a younger man. 

No one answered him.

Some remained staring at the small screen. Eternal optimists and deniers of the truth. The group had lost cohesion though. People peeled off and strutted around trying to generate some purpose. A couple of loners found windows to stare out of, but as the night was onyx black, all they saw was their reflection. They stayed put. Narcissus staring into the abyss of his own shallowness.

Then the pilots and air stewards walked in, regret writ large upon their faces. This regret was limited to their having entered a room where all eyes were suddenly upon them. All eyes save the two gazers. They remained fixated upon the illusion of themselves in the dark windows.

The pilots were painted with the function of saviours. They were all-knowing. They would have the answers and a solution to the pitiful plight of the stranded passengers.

They had none.

“What about air traffic control and the baggage handlers?” asked a pinched woman in a business suit. 

“Gone,” said one of the pilots.

The woman turned to another of the pilots in askance. Not at all happy with the answer she’d been given. He shrugged.

“What do you mean gone!?” she snarled at the original pilot.

“Gone, as in left for the day,” he answered.

“But…!” she growled, but there was nothing more to say about the absence of people who may or may not have at least known what was going on.

“What now?” asked the younger man again. 

“We wait,” said the second pilot.

“For what?” asked the angry business suit attired woman.

“Daylight and the ground staff to return,” said the first pilot.

During this exchange, the pilots and air crew had remained in their ranks. Facing a belligerent enemy. Now the tension dissipated a little. There was not a battle to be had that any of them would win.

“When’s daybreak?” asked a woman of a certain age. She’d embraced her grey hair and it gave her a look of dignified authority. A potential leader, or perhaps the sage whisperer at the ear of the figurehead.

Watches were consulted. They gave the same wrong answer.

“That’s odd,” said one man. He looked towards the pilots and the expensive bracelets they wore. The pilots shook their heads.

“Midnight,” said another.

“Can’t be,” said the balding man. “What does yours say?”

“Midnight,” shrugged a pilot, puzzlement etched across his face.

“Anyone else?” asked the balding man.

“Mine’s midnight too. Second hand is pinging back and to on the stroke of the hour.”

“Mines dead.”

“Mine too.”

Phones and laptops were consulted. All dead.

“The screen!” exclaimed the younger man. 

It was as blank and ominously dark as the windows. 

“Try switching it off and switching it back on,” suggested someone.

The balding man stepped in. Reached up to find a wire to trace back to a plug socket. There was none. Neither was there an on-off switch. He turned to the expectant room and shrugged, “strange.”

The business woman strode over, confident that she could achieve what the dishevelled man could not. Her confidence leaked from her as she prodded and cajoled the recalcitrant screen.

“Don’t look at it,” said a mousy woman, “there’s something off about that screen. It’s as though it’s staring at us.”

A few brave souls sought to poo-poo this nonsense. Quickly they cast their eyes down. Beaten by a superstition they did not wish to share.

“Don’t I know you?” the younger man had singled out one of the air stewards. There was a moment between them, but the meaning of it was smudged beyond recognition.

“No…” said the air steward, too far after the fact, “I don’t think you do.”

The younger man looked set to refute this. Seemed to want to go on, but then thought better of it. Maybe saw the ground where that would go and felt safer where he was, “oh,” he said before reluctantly disengaging. 

He walked to a seat, glancing back at the man in uniform, but as he sat, his eyes fell downward and he slumped in a defeat that spoke of a sadness that occurred a long time ago. Too long ago to reside within him, but there it was all the same.

The energy in the room was more suppressed now. It pulsed less frequently. There was nothing to do but wait and for people to conserve their energy. Awaiting change. Knowing that change, any change, is never pleasant. Even when it is anticipated and wanted. Inertia is a person’s natural state. Inertia at least provides a feeling of control. The room was full of semi-dormant people and it remained this way for some while.

*

No one sleeps. They power down, but remain conscious. It is as though they do not trust those around them and fear waking up to an empty room. Betrayed as they slumbered, and left alone in a forsaken place that they would never have chosen to visit.

The question of where they actually are, the nature of the location and the possibility of leaving the airport is never raised. Everyone is held in the room by their fear of missing out.

Time passes, but without the ability to measure that flow, the roommates are blind. Something that has passed for patience wears thin and a pressure begins to build. Again, it is the woman in the business suit who snaps.

“Why the hell isn’t it getting lighter?” she barks as she bursts forwards and strides to one of the windows.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” says an urbane, elderly gentleman who has remained anonymous in his silence until now.

“Why the hell not!?” she is almost screaming now and she disregards his warning. Does not turn to look at him as she speaks.

He nods his head knowingly as she reaches the window and becomes still. 

“What just happened?” asks the balding man.

“She didn’t listen,” says the old gentleman.

“But…” the balding man begins, “you knew!”

“Haven’t you seen the other two?” asks the gentleman, pointing with his cane.

The balding man looks askance.

“Never observant,” remarks the old man, “but not a surprise. They have not moved since going to their respective windows.”

He rises from his seat and walks to the business-suited woman. Looks at her curiously. “This is the most peace this woman has ever known.” He returns his gaze to the balding man, “Now I am going to say don’t look too long at the windows. I am saying it in a loud, clear voice so everyone hears my words. How many of you do you think will heed my second warning?”

The balding man keeps his eyes on the elderly gent, his face an expression of pain and confusion. He does not look away. Senses the dread change in the room. The stillness of death. A silence and atmosphere that he is well acquainted with.

“Don’t think of an elephant! Works every single time!” The elderly gent claps his hands delightedly and laughs a laugh that is as far away from humour as the moon is from the sun. The sound goes beyond a cackle. It hurts in ways that makes the balding man’s eyes blur and throb. He thinks he’s having a stroke, and then he wishes he was having a stroke, but is beginning to understand that that won’t happen. Not here. Not now.

Somehow, he finds his feet, and on unsteady legs. The legs of a new born deer. He looks around him. Most of the waiting passengers are gazing at the window. They are motionless. Frozen in time and space. It’s their eyes that traumatise him. He quickly looks away from one set of eyes, only to settle upon another set. A sea of poisonously dark creatures seeking him out hungrily.

The younger man is still looking down. The bald man goes to him. Shakes his shoulder. The seated man wobbles and then falls forward. His eyes are gone. Instead there are two pools of the insidious darkness. He is grinning a terrible grin. The balding man has seen that grin before, but can’t place it. Truth is, he doesn’t want to place it. 

Tearing his eyes from the fallen man, he searches for someone, anyone, who has not been taken by that darkness. All he sees is that same, insane grin painted on the faces of the seated passengers. 

Now he knows where he’s seen that grin before. Caught glances of it when he has gone with his most base and powerful urges. Seen it reflected back at him and not wanted to recognise his own face wearing that madness. The truth of that reflection had to be denied in order for him to do what he did again and again and again.

Now he’s moving along the rows searching for just one person. Someone. Anyone. To be an ally. Safety in numbers. He feels the presence of the old gentleman and he doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He’s scared now. More scared than he’s ever been. All the strength he felt when he followed his urges and exercised his power over mere, undeserving people is gone now, and with it his protection. What he’s left with is now exposed. All he has is his shame and fear and a well of pain so deep he doesn’t think it has any end. 

Pain eternal.

Now he knows what this place is.

And he knows who it is standing behind him.

He’s on his own. 

There’s no one to help him.

He will always be on his own. In an isolation that will threaten to gift him the escape of insanity, but never deliver upon that threat.

There’s only Him, and the balding man can feel hot fetid breath on his neck now. He turns around. He doesn’t want to, but he is compelled to do so. There is no stopping this now. Nowhere to run. No option. No choice. Not even the dark choice he made far too many times. 

He’s earned this, and with interest. Time to take responsibility for his actions. He was never going to escape that responsibility. He only ever deferred it. No one ever gets away with anything, and the longer they escape the consequences, the harder those consequences are. No time for redemption now. Not that he is capable of displaying remorse. Never bothered to try to understand what that was.

“But I’m not dead!” he gasps as he sees the true face of the elderly man. A face far older than he was wearing just a moment ago.

“THERE IS NO DEATH FOR THE LIKES OF YOU!” the voice is not heard. It happens inside the balding man. And it hurts. It hurts like hell. A free sample of what is to come.

The figure before the balding man smiles, his voice is moderated again as he speaks, “you made hell on Earth. You really did. I suppose I could thank you. But I’m not going to. You see, you stole from me. You used my darkness. You even tried to destroy your own soul into the bargain. That’s cheating.” The creature smiles revealing sharp teeth crawling with maggots, “thankfully, the Big Man has rules and one of those rules is that souls cannot be destroyed. The soul is the best bit of you. The soul is eternal. And your soul is mine now. You played your game and you thought you were winning. There’s only one winner here, and that was always going to be me.”

The figure reaches out and cups the bald patch and draws the helpless man closer. Their mouths connect in the foulest of kisses and the balding man moans and attempts to say something. But his mouth is full and no one will ever know what he wanted to say. Not even him. He collapses on the ground. Maggots slipping from his mouth. He writhes and convulses on the floor. Now maggots are emerging from his nose and ears. His eyes collapse as more of the ravenous, wriggling creatures crawl forth from him. Then his skin ripples and ripples until it caves in and all there is, is a writhing mass of white upon the floor. 

The figure kneels and breathes deeply. The white mass rises and he consumes the cloud in one breath, sending the bald man to his final destination. Rising, he takes on the form of the vulpine gentleman and looks around the room, “who’s next?” he asks the blank statues. 

He smiles his predatory smile and returns to the business woman. Wraps an arm around her waist and takes her hand in his. Then he dances and as he dances she returns to the room and her fate. The beginning of an eternal fate that he will introduce each and every one of these people to one by one. Each time he will do it differently. After all, he’s had an age to devise their punishments and he takes pride in his work. Pride being one of the deadly sins that he has to play with.

He also likes to have fun. At other’s expense of course. May as well make the most of his exile in this place. It was only ever supposed to be a layover, but he enjoyed himself far too much. He found his thing and the Big Man decided not to have him back. Something about cosmic balance and the health of the universe to dress up the permanency of his fall and the Big Man’s rejection of him.

He smiles again. He doesn’t know about any of that, only that this feels so good. The reward of a job well done. This one he will use, just the same way she used others. He doesn’t have to do much in the way of planning really. They do all the work for him. And they provide him with the tools. He merely gives them back what they did. 

With interest.

And his own inimitable flourish.

He seduces her as they dance. His allure is hypnotic. He is a walking lie. He promises her much, but will give her worse than nothing. Just the same as she did with all her victims. Taking and taking until there remained only husks where there was once bright, vibrant, loving people. 

She experiences an exquisite thrill. A dopamine hit from yet another meaningless sexual encounter, and this time when he smiles, there are two wicked fangs protruding from his upper jaw. She sees them well. She knows what this means. She is caught in a maelstrom of confusion. Her body continuing to respond to him, even though she sees the danger of him. A heady cocktail of sex and death. This was what she did. Creating a dangerous addiction to her while she bled them dry. They could not resist her. She knew her currency and she spent it well.

He leans in, his mouth brushing her neck and she experiences a wave of intense pleasure. He allows her this. Another lie. A feint before he feeds. A moment of hope that lifts her so that her fall is all the harder. As he plunges those fangs into her, the pain is unlike any pain she has ever experienced. He takes everything she ever stole and with each pulse of her heartbeat he draws it out of her and replaces it with a world of pain. With each pulse she swoons and feels as though she can take no more, but her capacity for pain is infinite. She will learn this over time. She will experience this over an eternity.  

Her body collapses in on herself, but he keeps going. Sucks every fibre of her into himself and sends her on her way.

“The betrayers are the best of all,” he says when he is finished, “The worst of humanity. I send them to the deepest part of hell, and we all have a go at them. Such fun!”

He spends a while wandering the room. Considering his seated guests as though they were a selection box of chocolates. He will consume each and every one of them. After all, gluttony is also a sin.