Flight to Freedom (Flight Trilogy, Book 3) (26 page)

“Let me see…” She twisted her lips to the side as she thought. “There might be a few things, but to be honest, I personally try to let go of the past. I don’t mean the good memories; those are what define our lives. I’m talking more about our regrets—the things we wish never happened. We can surely learn from our past mistakes, but holding on to them, letting them simmer in our hearts, will only rob us of our hope.”

Her
words
!
They
are
the
same
words
from
my
dream
!
How
is
that
possible
?

She continued. “And without hope…well…life simply feels dead…don’t you think?”

“Definitely.”

“I think we would all be better off if we spent more time focusing on the present. Each day has more than enough to keep us busy without fretting about the past or worrying about what hasn’t even happened.”

How
did
these
thoughts
of
hers
get
into
my
dream
?

She said, “But I’ll admit, it’s not easy letting go. For some strange reason, humans tend to find pleasure wading in the pool of ‘What if’…even when they know it is filled with hope-eating piranha.”

“That’s an interesting way to look at it.”

“The way I see it, the journey of life is all about the ending. The choices we make every day determine what the story will look like in the end.”

Déjà
vu
.
I
must
ask
her
…

But before he delivered the question, the sound of the front door closed. “Ryan!” John called from the foyer. Within seconds, he stepped into the kitchen. “Let me show you where you will be sleeping.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Angel said, “but we planned to put you in Keri’s old bedroom.”

“That’s fine.”

She touched his hand and said, “Welcome home.”

CHAPTER 38

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Saturday
afternoon
—
June
14
,
2003

Ryan crossed the threshold into—what he knew only as—“Keri’s bedroom”; stepping through a crack in time—one foot in the present, the other in a life long ago.

Though the bed was in the same location, the furniture was different. Two windows faced the front of the house towards Habersham Road.

“Take your time,” John said, “but when you’re ready come join us. We have sandwiches for lunch.”

“Thanks, John. I’ll be down in a minute.”

When John left the room, Ryan sensed a strange oneness with Keri; not the grownup Keri, but Keri, the little girl. He stood in her sanctuary of dreams—the place where she formed her first thoughts of what her life might become one day.

Grief tugged at his heart. His chest tightened. The little girl—who once wrote in her diary, hung memories on her bulletin board, talked with her girlfriends about the boy at school who made her blush, and saw nothing but a bright future ahead of her—was now dead.

He walked to the window and peered down at the circular drive. His mind traveled back to June, 23, 1974; a Saturday evening. By that time, the little girl had grown up. She had graduated from high school that year and was now a beautiful, young lady. It was the last night before her boyfriend whom she had dreamed of spending the rest of her life with was going away to the Naval Academy. The thought of not seeing him—possibly losing him forever—must have torn at her heart.

Salty tears burned his eyes.

Keri
,
I’m
so
sorry
…

When Ryan parked his ‘65 Impala on the circular drive that night, he was not prepared for what would soon happen. Unbeknownst to him, only moments before he had arrived at the Hart’s house, Barbara Ann had insisted that Keri say her final good-byes to Ryan Mitchell and put an end to their relationship.

He imagined Keri hearing his car arrive, the car door close, and the doorbell ring. The room that had once been her sanctuary of dreams had become her Tower—a prison of holding until the final blow of her words could be delivered to her unsuspecting prey: “I think we need to break up.”

After that night, the journey of her life had taken her far from her little-girl dreams and tested her resolve to hold true to her ultimate prince. But in a time of weakness, she had slipped and been lured from her storybook path and into a dark world where the heart is forever scarred.

I
am
sorry
,
Keri
.
I
could
have
stopped
it
.
It
was
my
fault
.
If
only
I
had
made
different
choices
.

Over the years, Ryan had relived every minute of that horrible night thousands of times; from the moment he saw her coming down the stairs, to the moment she had left him sitting alone in his car in the circular drive—in disbelief. Being back in the place where it all occurred had opened old wounds that had long since been covered by the scars of time.

As a child, he had been a victim of Barbara Ann’s masterful manipulation, but as an adult, he had no doubts he could easily subvert her scheme—if only he had a second chance.

Angel had apparently not worn her perfume today; hopefully she still used it. Time was running out. In less than twenty-four hours, he would be on the Gulfstream headed back to California.

Perhaps if he mentioned to Angel how wonderful the fragrance was and how he missed smelling it since Keri’s death, she might be encouraged to put some on. If not, once everyone had gone to bed, he could spray it on her while she slept. He could sneak into her bedroom and pump a few squirts on her arm, or any other exposed skin, inhale the fragrance, and slip back into his bedroom before he broke into one of his noisy, allergic reactions.

First, he needed to locate her
Angel
. During lunch, he would ask for directions to the nearest bathroom, knowing he would be directed to the half bath off the foyer. But instead of going to the guest bathroom, he would hurry down the hall to the master bath located at the other end of the house. If they happened to find him snooping in their private quarters, he would tell them he got lost looking for the guest powder room. His stomach churned as he contemplated the plan.

Leaving Keri’s bedroom, he returned to the kitchen finding Angel alone, putting the last touches on the decorations for a Father’s Day celebration—streamers, crepe paper garlands, balloons, and a festive paper tablecloth.

“Happy pre-Father’s Day!” Angel said. “We like to make it a two-day affair.

Ryan stopped in the doorway. He was no longer a father—his children were dead.

Angel quickly realized her mistake. “Ryan…I am so sorry; how stupid of me!”

“No, it’s fine…”

“It’s not fine. I wasn’t thinking.” She ripped down the streamers hanging in the doorway.

Ryan grabbed her hand. “I promise…I’m fine. It’s just the first time I’ve realized I’m no longer…” Tears spilled from his eyes. “…a father.”

Angel handed him a napkin and put her arm around his shoulder. “We don’t have to do this. I know everyone would agree.”

“No…really…I want you to celebrate. I want you to do everything you normally do. It would be wrong if you didn’t. John is a wonderful father and he needs to be reminded of that. I’ll be fine. Actually, today will be the perfect time for me to remember all the great memories of my children.”

“Are you sure?”

‘…
don’t
grieve
for
them
;
they
are
at
peace
.
’

He hesitated, digesting his thought.

“I’m absolutely positive. And as you said earlier, life is all about choices, right? So I’m going to choose to move on with life; think of it as a new beginning. I know it’s what Keri would want me to do.”

“She certainly would.”

Angel positioned herself in front of him. When their eyes met, he instantly felt a calming peace reach deep into his soul. The sensation was identical to what he had experienced at the cemetery when he looked into the translucent eyes of the little woman named Peggy—who called herself Hope. Just as before, he lost interest in the world around him—even his dead family. All he wanted to do was continue staring into Angel’s eyes.

“Ryan, how a person views death is a test of how they view hope. By your making the choice to view death as a new beginning, you are certain to find joy, peace, and strength—and a new hope.”

Where
have
I
heard
that
?

“God knew when, where, and how Keri, David, and Martha were going to leave this world before they were even born, and He also knew that you would be left alone.”

Peggy
…
the
cemetery
…
she
said
the
exact
same
words
!

“In the midst of our darkest hour, we must
know
there is hope—a reason to feel that life is still worth living. Just like the city of Atlanta—once burned to the ground, rose out of the ashes.”

Peggy
said
that
,
too
.

“I don’t know how this is possible, but everything you just said was verbatim to what a woman said to me yesterday at the cemetery.”

“That’s interesting. I guess the woman and I must think alike.”

Angel turned away. The peaceful bliss he experienced left him—as if she had cast a spell on him and it had now been lifted.

“Honey, I’m starved,” John said as he entered the kitchen. “Susan and Ronald are right behind me.”

Ryan had not noticed the spread of meats, cheeses, breads, and assorted condiments.

“Perfect timing…lunch is served,” she said, pointing to the counter. “Grab a plate and help yourself.”

Susan and Ronald joined them and everyone prepared their sandwiches and took a seat at the table. After John said a blessing, Ryan asked Angel, “Could you point me in the direction of your nearest bathroom.”

“Just around the corner…you can’t miss it.”

“Thanks.” He stood. “Everyone, please excuse me.”

The house had been completely remodeled, but the basic floor plan had not changed. The master suite was at the other end of the house, so he needed to be quick, being careful to walk softly on the hardwood floors. Thankfully, he was wearing tennis shoes.

CHAPTER 39

Buckhead
,
Georgia

Saturday
afternoon
—
June
14
,
2003

On his way to the master suite, he stopped briefly at the guest bathroom, opened the door, then pulled it firmly closed. The sound of the door closing created an audible illusion sufficient for those in the nearby kitchen to believe he had arrived at his destination. He continued quietly down the hallway to the master suite.

He entered the large bathroom with double sinks, a Jacuzzi tub, separate shower, toilet room, and an adjoining, oversized his-and-hers closet. The sink against the far wall obviously belonged to Angel. It was slightly lower with an assortment of female paraphernalia, but no star-shaped dispenser of
Angel
perfume. He searched the medicine cabinet and drawers.

Nothing.

He stepped into her closet and flipped on the light. There was a large built-in makeup vanity, but no
Angel
perfume. He checked the drawers.

Nothing.

If he stayed any longer they might begin to miss him—yet worse…send someone to the guest powder room to check on him.

He rushed out of the bedroom and down the hall, stopping to open and close the powder room door, then into the kitchen. Slightly winded, but not noticeably so, he took a sip of water.

“While you were in the bathroom,” Angel said, “we were wondering if you might like to do anything special today.”

The only thing he could think of doing was going to the mall and buying some
Angel
perfume. Without it, there was no chance of a final, and most important, dream regression. Angel had once mentioned Macy’s in Lenox Square Mall.

He leaned over and whispered in Angel’s ear. “I would really like to go to the mall and buy John a Father’s Day card.”

She looked at him and smiled. “Great idea.”

“What’s the secret?” John said.

“Ryan and I need to run an errand after lunch. It’s a surprise.”

* * *

Angel backed the big Mercedes out of the garage, shifted into DRIVE, then eased down the long driveway.

Once they arrived at the mall, he would need to go to Macy’s alone. He could excuse himself to find the men’s room, telling her he would meet up with her at the card racks. While she read Father’s Day sentiments, he would be purchasing
Angel
perfume at the cosmetic counter.

As they pulled out of the driveway and onto Habersham Road, another idea popped into his head. After buying a card for John, he would take her to the cosmetic counter and encourage her to use the samples of
Angel
. He could tell her how the fragrance reminded him of Keri and how much he missed it.

How
could
she
refuse
?

He was certain to burst into an allergic reaction after ingesting the fragrance. Having never witnessed one of his attacks, she would rush him home. He would then excuse himself to Keri’s bedroom and hopefully dream one last dream.

When she arrived at the intersection of Habersham and West Paces Ferry, she turned right, drove five blocks—passing the Atlanta History Center on the right. As she approached the traffic light at Peachtree Road, he was surprised when she eased into the far right lane.

“Isn’t Lenox Square to the left?” he said.

“Yes, but on a Saturday before Father’s Day, it will be a nightmare. The traffic around Lenox and Phipps Plaza is bad enough without it being a holiday weekend.”

Oh
no
!
This
is
not
good
.