Flight 666 (Moment of Death) Read online

  The sound of a crackling fire filled the air, and he felt the heat of the flames as they drew closer. The four men hoisted him high and set each end of the shaft into a gigantic rotisserie. They locked him into place a few feet above the licking flames.

  “Grab the crank,” he heard one of them say. “Start turning him.”

  Despite his agony, Tony opened his eyes. The man at the crank was his brother’s best man, Glen Reed.

  “What’s up, fat boy?” Glen asked as he started turning the crank.

  Tony began to slowly spin, turning round and round, seeing sky, ground, fire, sky, ground, fire, over and over again. He heard a voice, a new one, and opened his eyes as he rotated on the spit. A blond man with piercing blue eyes and a scar down the side of his face stepped into view.

  “Slower,” the man commanded. “You’ve got to roast him evenly or you’ll ruin the meat. And don’t forget this.”

  The man was holding a bright red apple, which he handed to Glen with a smile. Glen stopped turning the crank and took the apple. He shoved it into Tony’s mouth. Tony struggled against the pressure, attempting to spit out the choking piece of fruit, but he couldn’t.

  “Continue rotating him,” the blond man ordered. Tony tried to scream as his eyes bulged. He was roasting, and he couldn’t breathe, but he was still alive. He smelled burning flesh.

  “Let’s test it,” the blond man said. He pulled out a huge knife and took a slice from Tony’s side. Tony tried to scream, but the apple blocked it. Tears rolled down his face. The man brought the charred meat to his lips and ate it. “Now, that’s good ham,” he said. “Slice up some pineapples, and let’s get this party started.”

  Tony felt his consciousness leave his body and rise above him. He looked down and watched as the four men removed him from the flames and cut him into hundreds of juicy slices. The beautiful women filled hundreds of plates to feed the hordes of hungry people who were lined up awaiting their feast. The man with the scar looked up and winked at Tony. Tony closed his eyes, and his ghost floated away into the ether.

  Tony’s head fell to his left, coming to rest on top of Sarah’s.

  Terrance “T-Sul” Sully wasn’t happy. The old grouch who had the window seat in his row, an arrogant twit of a businessman, had refused to trade his or even his assistant’s seat for Sarah’s in the back. The man had threatened to complain to the airline attendant if T-Sul didn’t stop trying to cajole him. The miserable coot acted as if he owned the damned airline. So T-Sul had to concede defeat, and he didn’t like to lose. Ah well. He’d have to catch up with Sarah later, maybe introduce her to the Mile High Club. Or perhaps after the plane landed in Seattle they might still have a chance to engage in some “quality time” before his flight to Japan.

  He glanced at the businessman’s assistant, who had the middle seat. The young woman looked almost apologetic. T-Sul was sure she would have agreed to switch seats if her boss hadn’t been such a jerk.

  T-Sul settled back and closed his eyes. Once the plane was airborne, he’d walk back and tell Sarah the bad news, maybe make some promises he didn’t intend to keep. For now, he needed to rest his eyes for a few seconds.

  He woke up an hour later. How had that happened? All that tequila must have taken a bigger toll than he’d realized. No matter. The plane was in the sky, and it was time to head down the aisle toward his sky-mile mistress.

  William Atherton glanced at T-Sul as he walked away, then turned to his assistant. “Evy, remind me to contact corporate when we arrive. I want that idiot barred from my airline for life!”

  “Yes sir,” she replied.

  Atherton narrowed his eyes at her. “I hope you’re not feeling any foolish sympathy for that scumbag. And I hope you don’t forget to remind me about barring him.”

  “I won’t forget, sir.”

  “Good. Because if you do, you’re fired.”

  Evy nodded.

  “I should have popped that smart-mouthed Lothario in the mouth. Imagine him trying to score on my plane. What a lowlife.”

  “Yes, sir,” Evy said.

  “It makes my blood boil. I hate his kind. It’s a good thing we take these little incognito jaunts, girl. It’s good to see firsthand the kind of filth that thinks they own the world. But they don’t own Atherton Airlines, I do. Rotten, disgusting cretins. I hate them. I hate them all.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  T-Sul couldn’t believe what he was seeing. There was Sarah, cuddled next to the Chicago Bears offensive line, all rolled into one enormous, flesh-oozing horror of a man. They were both dead to the world.

  T-Sul reached over the immense mountain of a man and tugged down Sarah’s neckline, exposing more of her cleavage. Then he whipped out his cell phone and snapped a few shots. Who knew, maybe some pervert would pay for pictures of a sexy young thing snuggling up with a tugboat on steroids.

  He returned to his seat. He caught the crotchety businessman looking over the head of his assistant, staring him down as he buckled in. T-Sul glared right back, until the crabby capitalist turned away.

  “You could do a lot better,” T-Sul whispered to the pretty assistant. As she looked him in the eyes, puzzled, he flicked his tongue over his lips and made his eyebrows bounce. She blushed and looked away.

  T-Sul popped in a set of ear-buds, plugged into the airline’s multimedia selection, and began browsing. He was always on the lookout for mood music for future video releases. He closed his eyes and thought about the porn empire he had built over the past few years. Love in Strange Places was an international phenomenon. His series with young girls baring it all and then being belittled in bathrooms, subways, zoos, and other unlikely places had sold more copies in three years than most adult video companies sold in twenty.

  There had been only one glitch, but it had plunged him into some deep water. It all started when his best friend’s sister, Tara, turned down his advances. Nobody turned down his advances. Turning him down was like throwing a big monkey wrench into the inner workings and hidden mechanisms of the cosmos. So one night he drugged her and made her a porn star. And he was her costar. He enjoyed appearing in his own movies, and he wanted to be the one to break her in. And quite the star Tara turned out to be. The video had gone viral, and Tara had become famous overnight.

  She had also become unhinged with shame. T-Sul told her it was really no big deal, but she was obsessed with guilt. And now she was dead by her own hand, and her brothers had put the word out that he would soon be joining her—hence the trip to Japan. He hoped Japan was nice this time of year. And he couldn’t wait to meet some nice young Japanese girls and make stars of them, too.

  He caught the assistant glancing at him. With his right hand resting on his forehead, he tilted toward her and flicked his tongue. She shuddered, turned bright pink, and returned her attention to the crossword puzzle in the airline magazine. He kept his eyes on her. She wasn’t half bad, he decided, not bad at all. Yeah, he could lick her like a lollipop and film himself getting to the creamy center. Yeah.

  T-Sul leaned back in his seat and focused on the music in his ears. Suddenly, the volume increased until it was blaring, and he had to yank the ear-buds from his ears. It was getting uncomfortably warm inside the cabin, and he felt dizzy, weightless, as if he were trapped in a falling elevator. He squeezed his eyes closed and fought off a feeling of claustrophobia. The unpleasant sensations passed.

  An airline hostess tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped, startled by her touch. He smiled and asked for a tequila.

  The stewardess ignored his request. She was looking at a clipboard. Finally, she looked up and said, “Excuse me, sir, is your name Terrance Sully?”

  “Yeah, baby, is there a problem?” If that old reprobate by the window had stirred up trouble, T-Sul would make him pay.

  “I’m afraid so,” she said, smiling. “I’m afraid you’ve been bumped up to first class.”

  T-Sul smiled and gave his recent antagonist a triumphant look and added a thumbs up
for good measure. He smiled at the man’s assistant and gave her a wink. Then he got up and followed the stewardess to first class.

  The stewardess opened the curtain and stepped inside, then gave T-Sul a vaguely naughty smile and crooked a finger at him, inviting him to enter. He smiled back. He’d like to suck that finger. And somehow her uniform seemed to have gotten tighter and shorter. It was showing off her voluptuous curves and long, shapely legs to full advantage.

  First class was dark, but that was fine with T-Sul, especially if the sexy stew was planning to follow through on the enticing look she’d given him. The stewardess drew the curtains closed and adjusted the lights till the space was dimly illuminated.

  “Where are all the people?” T-Sul asked, looking around at the empty seats. First class was completely deserted, save for the two of them. The flight attendant gently pushed him into a seat.

  “This is all for you, T-Sul,” the attendant said as she unbuttoned the top of her blouse.

  “I don’t get it,” he said.

  “We know who you are, T-Sul. You’re the man. Everybody knows you. Everybody wants you, and everyone wants to be with you.”

  “You cleared first class just for me?”

  The woman nodded, licking her lips as she removed her bra and dropped her skirt.

  “Wanna join the Mile High Club?”

  T-Sul turned toward the front and saw another flight attendant smiling at him. She was nearly identical to the first.

  “Ladies, this is your lucky day,” T-Sul said. “Let me grab my camera phone. I’ll make you two the stars of my next film.”

  “Here’s the tequila you requested, T-Sul,” the second stewardess said, bending over with the loaded tray.

  T-Sul grabbed the shot and downed it in a single swig. The woman poured another, and he downed that as well, then tossed the shot glass into the seat next to him. As he stared at the twin beauties, they helped each other completely strip before his eyes.

  “Guess I better follow suit,” he said as he began to remove his own clothes.

  The two women stood completely naked before him, fondling each other. One of them said, “We’re ready for our starring roles.”

  “Oh, yeah, this is gonna be good,” T-Sul said, rubbing his hands together.

  One of the twins reached for the bottle of tequila. “Looks like there’s only two shots left,” she said as she handed it to him. “Finish it off, big man. If you swallow the worm, we’ll swallow yours.”

  T-Sul grinned so wide his upper lip split as he ripped the bottle from her hand and began to chug down the remaining liquid. The tequila bit at his throat like fire, but he ignored the sensation, focused on getting down to business.

  Showtime, he thought as he finished the bottle and the worm slid down his throat. He dropped the bottle to the floor and reached out to touch the two women. Suddenly he began to gag. Panic seized him as pressure built in his throat and something expanded inside his esophagus. He couldn’t breathe. He dropped to his knees in the aisle, gagging and choking, until he spit out the worm.

  The worm hit the floor, glistening with slime. T-Sul was still on his knees, panting, and saliva was filling his mouth. He needed to throw up. He gasped as the worm quivered and then began to grow larger. T-Sul’s eyes widened in horror and disgust as the thing grew to five times its original size. The cabin was getting warm, and he started to sweat. He looked up at the two naked twins. They were laughing and pointing at him. Suddenly their beautiful faces twisted and melted and turned into grinning skulls, mocking him with macabre grins.

  T-Sul squeezed his eyes shut against the horror. Still on his knees, he began to crawl backwards toward the entrance to first class. He was startled by a sucking sound and opened his eyes. The worm had grown to a length of five feet, and it was slithering toward him.

  “No!” he yelled and looked at the two flight attendants. Flesh had returned to their skulls, but they were different women now, women who were familiar to him. One looked like Sarah Loth, the other like the high-class call girl who was sitting several rows behind the row he’d been sitting in.

  T-Sul looked at the floor. His mind was reeling. Maybe he’d been drugged. He started crawling backwards again, but he slammed into something that felt like metal. He turned and saw iron bars in front of the curtains. He turned back around and saw more bars. He was surrounded by them, locked in a metal cage. The bars began to move, closing in on him, intensifying his claustrophobia. His heart was hammering in his chest. The worm began crawling toward him, inching its way forward, making a repulsive squishing sound and leaving a trail of slime.

  T-Sul was paralyzed, whether from fear or from some drug, he didn’t know. The creature stopped a few feet from him. The tip of the thing opened wide, revealing a gaping maw. T-Sul shuddered. Something was happening inside that slimy quivering orifice. It looked as if some unnatural alien beast was being born. It slowly grew into a head covered in slime. T-Sul began to hyperventilate. The face and blackened eyes of the creature had resolved into a hideous replica of Tara.

  It whispered his name, drawing it out in a breathy, whispery hiss as the worm continued to inch toward him.

  T-Sul clenched his eyes shut and begged himself to wake up from the nightmare. The Tara simulation whispered to him again.

  Why did you do this to me, T-Suuuuuul? Do you still want me, T-Suuuuuul? I’m ready this time. I’m ready for the money shot.

  The worm forced itself between the bars, crawled forward, and climbed on top of T-Sul. He fell backward, and the worm reared up over him. He saw the imitation Tara looking down at him and heard it whisper to him for the last time.

  How about a little head?

  The worm opened its mouth wide and dropped toward T-Sul like an immense curling wave crashing onto a beach. It enveloped his head down to his throat, and T-Sul felt the monster’s teeth clamp around his neck. It was the last thing he felt. In the next instant, his headless body slumped to the floor, twitched once or twice, and went still.

  “What’s going on in here?” William Atherton demanded after he rushed into the first class section. The faces of the first-class passengers looked stunned as they turned from the man lying on the floor and looked at Atherton.

  Terrance Sully—the man who had threatened Atherton for not switching seats with some bimbo—was lying on the floor, his shirt unbuttoned and his pants down around his knees. A moment ago he had been screaming like a man who had just come face to face with the Grim Reaper. Atherton nudged Sully’s body with his foot, but there was no movement.

  “Get up, you idiot,” Atherton barked.

  Still no response. Atherton nudged him with his foot again, harder this time.

  “Get the first aid kit,” Atherton commanded the flight attendant. “And find out if there’s a doctor aboard. We may have to divert the flight for this clown.”

  If Atherton had been annoyed before, now he was enraged. And the worthless piece of garbage lying on the floor of his airplane had caused both disturbances. Maybe he shouldn’t give him first aid. The creep certainly wasn’t worth the trouble of diverting the flight. Maybe he should just let nature take its course, even if the fool died.

  He’d never had anyone die on one of his flights, not in the forty years since he’d started Atherton Airlines. The company was built on rock-solid principles and led by a tough man with an iron fist. It wasn’t easy running an airline. There was so much to deal with—the government and its regulations, the unions, the price of fuel, overpaid pilots, increased security, and on and on. And worst of all were the hordes of loud, ill-dressed, and obnoxious passengers—like the moron lying on the floor who had been screaming. It was enough to make a man turn violent.

  He shoved the unconscious man with his foot again. “Get up,” he said through clenched teeth. “I said, get up!”

  There was no response, and Atherton felt his anger boiling over. He had to think about his blood pressure. It had been too high for too long, and he couldn’t even rememb
er if he’d taken his blood-pressure medicine that day.

  He tried to remember some of the techniques he’d learned in the anger management course that a judge’s order had forced him to take two years earlier. It was either that or jail, but he couldn’t remember a single lesson or tip from the useless course. All he could remember was the judge’s stern, arrogant face as he’d explained the choices and the consequences facing him. Atherton had had an overpowering urge to pull that judge off his high seat and his high horse and pound the self-importance from his loathsome face. He had even taken a step toward him, but his lawyer—the same dim-witted lawyer who had lost the case—had placed a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. That brainless lawyer was as bad as the judge. Atherton would have liked to rearrange that loser’s pretty-boy face and yank out a few choice locks of his perfect blow-dried hair.

  As Atherton was enjoying his memories, Evy, his ever-present assistant, appeared. Shy, faithful, needy Evy. The woman who accompanied him everywhere and who had, in some ways, replaced his late wife. The woman who had once been friends with his lazy, undutiful daughter. Evy the loyal lap dog.

  “I think he’s passed out,” Evy said.

  “You have a keen sense of the obvious,” Atherton replied without looking at her.

  Two male flight attendants appeared, and with some help from a passenger, they carried Terrance Sully out of first class to the rear of the plane. “Cuff him and don’t let him loose until we hit Seattle,” Atherton called after them.

  Atherton looked at Evy. “I want the authorities standing by when we land. I want this piece of trash arrested. I want.…”

  Atherton’s breath caught, and he felt a wave of lightheadedness. He placed his hands on the back of a seat and fought to catch his breath. A blond man with piercing blue eyes looked up at him from the seat.