Blonde part 2

part 2

　





*

"Wheat Gold." Chloe read from the packaging. The lady in the beauty aisle said it was the best color they carried. Most expensive was more like it. She sighed, and ripped the plastic from the small box and opened it, a small toothpaste-like tube tumbling out and into the sink. The hair dye came with plastic gloves so she stretched them over her hands, dissatisfied when she realizes they’re huge and leave her fingers clumsy.



In the mirror, she studied how dark her hair had grown out. Chloe remembered when it was red, and how she liked it, liked how changed she looked. She tried every color, hoping that she’d find a more gratifying look than being blonde. She never could.



Chloe wet her hair, and applied the dye, squinching her nose when the smell finally hit her. It was strong and intoxicating, made her a little dizzy.



She opened the window in the tiny hotel bathroom and stuck her head out to breathe. The city air was just as fumy and bad, but the sounds of the cars and people on the street below were calming. It was a small concession of home. She closed her eyes.



She couldn’t remember what city she was in. She’d been everywhere, seen everything, and it hardly mattered where she was now. All that did matter was going home. She was ready now.



A muffled roar above interrupted her thoughts. She couldn't see it, but she felt the airplane cut through the sky, directly over her and then beyond into deeper blue. It was leaving for some other city she didn’t care about. Not unless it was hers.



And then she remembered.



"Sh*t!" Chloe banged her head against the window when she ducked away too fast. She ran to the small bedroom she’d rented for the past two weeks and started packing her things. She’d be late if she didn’t leave now, and she couldn’t believe she forgot. Again.



She glanced at the alarm clock on the night table next to the bed, hoping she wasn’t too late.





4:15



:



4:15

　

:

　

4:16

　



Blinking. Again.



It didn’t matter how many times she reset it, that damn clock never worked.



She walked past the TV, not paying attention to the photo of the woman on one of those "Most Wanted" shows. It looked a lot like her, except, her hair was red. Good thing she went gold.



She placed her laptop carefully in her bag, discarding of the collection of newspapers that piled next to it. She swept at the array of coffee cups that accumulated with her forearm, all but one falling into the waste basket next to the table. The last one was still warm, and had a few drops left. Chloe tilted her head all the way back to finish what was left, and then dropped her hand to the waste basket. She paused then, right before throwing the cup away, staring at the discarded newspaper headline...

　





QUEEN IS DEAD





She crinkled the cup in her fist and threw it at the words.

It had happened. It had finally happened. Now she really was alone.



She packed her bag and ran back to the bathroom to wash out her hair. The hair dryer smelled burnt, but she brushed until her hair shined, and bounced back. She walked away, satisfied. The color was bright and happy, almost made her feel the same way.



As she arranged her things and zipped up her jeans, the TV droned on behind her, her image at four corners and in every shade, even pink. It made a Warhol sort of effect, a different color, identity, disguise for every city she's ran from.













"…wanted in eight countries… many aliases and disguises, considered armed and dangerous--"











She turned the television off.



Turned off the room lights and grabbed her things, and before she closed the door behind her, she pulled the coat off the back of the door.



She still smelled the arctic air from the wool sleeve, as she buried her nose in the faux fur lining. It was eighty degrees outside, but she slings it over her elbow anyway.



Some things she couldn’t leave behind.





In the cab, the tongue the driver spoke was so thick even she couldn’t hardly understand it. She’d studied languages for years, practiced it in the field just as long since her job required it, but today she can’t focus. Her mind was hazy and tired. All she wants is to go home.



The signs were dirty in this city, and she wondered if she’d make it to the airport on time the way the cab went in circles.



Her life was in circles. Every thing led her to this point, and then to another that ended up where she started. The only thing that changed were the people who dropped off along the way. Now that too would stay the same. There wasn't anyone left.



Finally, she arrived, and jogged into the terminal, climbing up the escalator two steps at a time. She hasn’t brought much, just her computer and the essentials. She even forgot to put on makeup.



But as she waltzed up to the arrival/departure bulletins, Chloe discovered her flight delayed.



Her laptop bag slides off her arm when her shoulders sag. She would be irritated if she had enough energy.



Coffee.



She smelled it.



She hadn’t had a cup in the last hour or so, and she knows from experience that delays take hours. She missed the days of private jets and the other travel options she used to have. But she'd lost all those, given them up in a way. Actually, when she thought about it clearer, they were taken from her. Stripped like a privledge she'd taken for granted.



She found a seat near the wall and sets up her laptop to charge while she waits. The coffee was still hot, really hot. She liked it that way, how it burnt her tongue only enough so that when she swallowed, her mouth felt numb. It’s relaxing, the way she can't feel her tongue. It reminded her to keep quiet, and covert. Only her written words could speak for her now, the rest of her just a ghost in a crowd...



She looked around.



Other people’s flights arrived and departed on time, and she tried not to think of why its always only hers that’s late. She propped open a book she’d picked up from the last city and held it in front of her eyes, forcing herself to read the silly lines… she used to enjoy reading… it was so hard to concentrate now.



The seat next to her dipped down, and her eyes dart to the side for only a second. There was a man sitting next to her . She noticed him, waiting for her to acknowledge his company, but she doesn’t. She too concentrated on reading the last line of her book.

Three, four times over. She can't remember the last--



"We must be soul mates." And that’s when she realized he’s talking. Flirting. It almost made her laugh.



And then she realized he had said it in English. It surprised her since she hadn't spoken in her native tongue in months. It alerted her. She spied him suspiciously from the side, trying to find any deception there in his face. But she couldn't get past his eyes. Lonely, and deep. Almost like hers. He spoke into hers, his accent reminding her of a cool lake and sunshine. She didn't say much in return, just listening to the smooth pronounciations that fall from his lips. He seemed to like talking to her, and she liked listening. Chloe smiled at the very least, inside.



He went on like this for a while until she remembered she’s supposed to be waiting for her flight. She’s supposed to be going home. She packed up her things and threw her empty coffee away, thinking she should board her flight now before she has to climb over the people with obnoxious suitcases in the rows.



She said something partially witty, partially rude, only enough so he’ll get the hint that she’s leaving, without him.



But then he caught her again, and it’s the way he had said it, in that sensual, rough southern voice…



"Next time, Blondie."



It made her breath hitch and her steps slow… she turned around.



Chloe watched as he stood up: tall, and a nice, thick body underneath his clothes. She couldn't help but notice he wore familiar pattern of flannel. How cruel of him to remind her of home.



She looked into his eyes, and wanders there. He almost looked familiar to her…








*



And now she knows where she’s seen him from. He’s a cop. Probably been following her for weeks.



"So, why wait until we were up in the air? Why not arrest me at the airport?" Her legs cross easily in the confined seating area. His legs are much longer and his knees touch the seat in front of him.



"I figured you can’t run far up here." Det. Ford shrugged, reading her face. "You do have a record of evading arrest, Ms. Sullivan." He thought a moment, flipping a page,

"Or is it Ms. Lane? Just how many names do you go by anyway?"



She smiles tightly, "Well, you should know. You’ve read my criminal history."



His head nods absently, and his fingers go to his chest pocket, pulling out a set of glasses. They're those dark plastic frames, and he looks different when he puts them on and turns to her. She remembers those glasses from somewhere else.



One of the stewardest pass by, and Chloe shrinks back, trying to hide the shiny silver bracelets he's given her.



"Here," he digs out her book, the one she'd left back at the terminal, "Hold this, it might help cover those." He props it in her hands, and helps her adjust it in a way that conceals her restraints from the the other passengers.



She almost says thank you, but it's his snide smile that shuts her up. "What?"



"Nothing." He shrugs, but then says, "I just can't help but think you left that book on purpose."



"Why would I do that?"



"So I'd bring it back to you. You want to be caught."



"That's ridiculous."



"Is it?"



She's quiet, because she really can't decide if she left the book intentionally or not.



"Listen, Blondie. All women want to be saved. All of you are damsels in distress, it's proven."



Chloe narrows her eyes dangerously. "You wouldn't know the first thing about saving anyone."



The detective doesn't smile nor frown. He just ignores her.



Her face flushes, chagrin. "And all that flirting, was it really necessary?"



This time he does make an expression. "I enjoyed myself, didn't you?"



She wasn't going to answer that. He was obviously a born b*llshitter, and so could she. "Just another tactic to keep catch me off guard."



"No, not really." He peers at in with his glasses turned down, like she imagines he does in the interrogation room. "You just can't accept it that men find you attractive,can you?"



She looked at him again. "That's hardly appropriate."



"Appropriate wasn't ever my style, Gorgeous." He flicks his eyes over hers, and then readjusts his glasses.



A cloud of steam plumed over her head. She could tell that he was enjoying this, whatever this was, so she turns in her seat, as much as she could with her hands cuffed together, and shifts towards the small window overlooking the horizon. There's a entire world underneath them, she can see how the Earth curves over through time zones, and from up here, time seems irrelevant. It didn't matter where they were now or where they were going. She wasn't about to give up, and surrender to the cops now. That wasn't her.



"Don't even think about it, Sullivan." She hears beside her, and its his gruff voice that sends shivers down her arms before she feels his hand brush over the one between them. And then he says, "Even if you do escape my custody, you wont go far for the next 8 hours we're over ocean. I hope you can swim."



She smiles, sadly. And then wistfully studies the way the clouds float beneath them. "Don't worry, I can fly."



The plane moves, and Chloe thinks maybe she's disturbed it with wishful thinking.



And then again. It rocks, and shudders. The pilots comes over the intercomm, warning everyone to buckle their seatbelts.



Det. Ford reaches over and secures hers. "Just turbulence." He answers, before she can even speak. Chloe looks at the peppered stubble that ran from his chin down his neck. And then over his chest, using her eyes to scope out where exactly his pistol was stored away. She knew it had to be somewhere on his person. Only, where?



The plane shuddered again. This time violently, as if something had grabbed the plane from under it, and jerked it.



Once.



Twice.



Three times.



That's when Chloe felt the pit of her stomach rise into her throat, the aircraft make a violent drop. Suddenly they were all on the world's tallest, free falling rollercoaster ride.



Luggage flew from its confines, dangerously knocking passengers overhead. Chloe let her laptop slide away, carefully tucking her thick coat between her knees.



Yellow masks fell infront of them and dangled like lifelines. Before she could reach for hers, the plane makes another jump. This time she hits her head.



Det. Ford braced himself on the seat in front of him before he struggled with his seat belt.



The clouds race past her oval window, white torrents of furry whispering in her ear.



She feels him stir next to her, and he's getting up. He's going to walk down the aisle to the cockpit. He's crazy or just really stupid since his body is tilted at an angle the way the plane is flatlining down.



He looks over his shoulder, "Don't you move!" His screaming is muffled by other passengers and the screaming of the engines.



Chloe stares at him and how he stumbles away. The last she sees of him is how he waves his golden badge in the air, intrepid and firm in his stance, proceeding past eyesight.



The plane drops again, and its the terrible screeching noise that cues Chloe to shut her eyes. It wasn't going to be pretty, their landing. In fact, by the way her body shot forward, and down, it was going to be plain nasty.



And then there's a loud pop, and then suction. She feels her body pulled backward.

Her fingers strangle the coat harder, until her knuckles ache. She can feel the threads slipping as it's sucked away from her.



She opens her eyes.



*

It was cold here.



Her body wasn't telling her this since she was warm, wrapped up in her dark parka with the fuzzy fur cuddled around her cheeks. But in her memory, she remembered being here before. Chloe didn't have her coat that time, nor did she think she would turn up in the middle of the arctic one moment after being in the midwest the other.



She once huddled on the floor, in that corner, her skin so blue, and breath in desperate clouds before her lips. She remembered whispering his name, begging him to hear her...



She turned, expecting to see him there.



He wasn't.



From the look of things, no one had been here in a long time.



Chloe spread her gloved fingers across a clear, crystalized column, and admired its beauty. There wasn't a need of a reminder that these rocks were alien. Nothing like this could ever be native to Earth.



"There's only so many places on this planet that's as special as this one."



Chloe turned, nodding to a man in reading glasses, olive skin, and dark curly hair. "I know. He kept it a secret for so many years." She bit her lip, and frowned. "As it should be."



She turned to her comrade with urgency. "Dr. Hamilton. Promise me that this place will only be known to us." She pointed her eyes. "No one else."



"I promise." His dark eyes engaged hers before the chill rushed past him, causing them both to shiver. "So, this place..."



"The fortress." She corrected him, walking to where the crystals forged out of the ground.He followed her, his steps light and cautious.



"You mentioned there being an intelligence within the structure." He looked around, up and then down where a crevase had broken the floors. "I don't see any life here."



Chloe removed her glove, and layed her palm against the frozen glass surface of the ice.



And felt, nothing.



"That's because it's dead."



She followed her eyes downward where the frost swam down the deep gorge, a crater that went deeper than the light could touch. It was a black hole, the center of the fortress. With every second she peered into it, she felt the void tugging at her chest.



"It died when he did. There wasn't any purpose for it if it's son was gone." Her eyes pulled away from the hole, and to the white, crystalline console. She walked to it, stopping just short of the elevated platform. Her breath formed into a cloud before her lips, and she turned around to speak, but Emil was already there, a discerning brow lower than the other.



"You want to revive it."



Her eyes and how they concentrated on the clear ice was enough of an answer."There's a lot of knowledge in these crystals."



"It's alien technology, Chloe. Even if I am able to reconstruct it, what do you expect of it? What do you want?"



Chloe smiled, only it didn't follow to her eyes. "I have to bring him back, Emil." She turned from him, her eyes widening at the enormous hollow that was the fortress's arching structure. The spires went hundreds of feet into the air, snow falling down in fluttery flakes down to her nose. She caught one, on her lash, and she closed her eyes, her fingers gripping the cuffs of her wool sleeve...



*



Her fingers clench harder onto the whipping fabric of the sleeve. Chloe clings to the last of her coat, her fingers squinting through the blast of wind that assaulted her body. She can almost smell it, the cold whipping air. That is, if she could breath at all.



All she saw was white, pure white sailing past her.



That's when it hit her. She was in the clouds. She was flying.



Well, ofcourse she was flying. She was on a plane.



Or was she?



She looked behind her, and saw the tail section was gone. So, techinically she was on half of a plane.



Maybe she was falling.



There were many things running through her mind. The probability of survival. The probability that someone would find them crashed over an ocean. The probability that this catastrophe would only occur in her life.



But right now, all she could really think about was oxygen.





She brought her hands up to her face, the cold metal of handcuffs striking her wrists. Chloe barricaded her face with them, the wind knocking the air out of her lungs. She couldn't breathe anymore. The dangling yellow masks twisted infront of her, so she grabbed one and placed it to her mouth.



She didn't get one breath before they hit.



*


part 3