The plane swayed to the right and the passengers’ fearful murmurs became louder with each second that passed by. Glasses from the first class cabin shattered onto the floor, and the overhead bins at the back of the plane flew open, forcing luggage to topple into the aisle.

I braced myself against the wall and made my way back to the cockpit. “What the hell is happening, Ryan?” I asked. “What mechanical issue?”

“If I knew, I would’ve said specifically what it was.” He was sitting in my seat, his hands nervously tapping the controls. “It’s the storm ahead, see? I just thought I would say mechanical issue instead of tropical storm. Sounds better to the passengers and makes them feel safer, don’t you think?”

Jesus Christ...

“Just call control and ask to climb,” I said flatly, taking his seat as the plane continued to shake.

“You should know the answer to this issue after finally passing all those simulator sessions.” I waited for him to make the call, but he simply sat there, tapping the buttons. “Ryan, call control and ask to climb.”

“I tried that right before you got here...” He swallowed. “We lost contact with them an hour ago.”

“An hour ago?”

“Yeah, I told you that. I said that and you just stared ahead, remember?”

I attempted to call control on my own, getting no signals in return. I attempted to send off emergency notices, but it was no use.

“We’re in a stall.” His voice trembled. “Do I thrust up?”

“No. Just hold steady.” I pulled the mechanical manual from the seat. “We’ll just reset it until we’re in steadier air. As long as you didn’t already attempt to do that without me, we’ll be fine.”

“And if I did attempt to do it?” His eyes widened as the plane suddenly tilted forward, then down toward the ocean. “If I did attempt to do it, is there another plan?”

Fuck...

GATE C51

GILLIAN

New York (JFK)

I woke up to ten missed calls from Meredith, five from my parents, and three from Kimberly. Turning my phone off, I figured it was just the same thing as any other day. More questions about interviews, more work that needed to be completed.

I adjusted my position in the bed and tucked a pillow under my head. I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels. I skipped Lifetime, Nickelodeon, CNN, and just as I was about to give up and settle on a DVD, I stopped at NBC—gasping when I saw the headline. When I saw Jake’s employee picture.

What?

The anchor was saying “Here’s what we know so far,” and the ticker at the bottom of the screen was repeating the same lines: “Elite Airways Flight 491 Missing,” “Plane Hasn’t Had Contact with Base for Two Hours” “Two Hundred Eighty-Three Aboard.”

I vomited on the floor.

Refusing to believe the news was true, I shakily powered my phone back on.

I called Meredith first, letting her calm me down until she boarded a flight to return to New York. It was midnight when we were forced to get off the phone, but I needed to talk to someone else. Someone else to keep me sane.

I called Kimberly.

“Gillian, listen to me,” she said as soon as she picked up. “I need you to turn off your phone and your internet. Only leave the TV on.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.” Her voice was solemn. “I’m actually on my way over right now, so if you haven’t done it, I will.”

I didn’t move.

“Gillian?”

I cried.

My chest heaved up and down and I attempted to say something, but nothing came out. My head was spinning with theories, regrets, and even though I didn’t want to believe it—I knew Jake was gone.

Memories of our recklessness played in front of my eyes like a film reel—the airport bathroom fucking, the carelessness on the international flights, the blatant dating, and I felt foolish.

I could have tried so much harder to make him listen to me. Could’ve tried so much harder to keep us...

***

I didn’t realize that Meredith and Kimberly were actually in my apartment until six in the morning, when I forced myself to go to the restroom.

They had all three of the TVs set to different news stations. All the anchors were reporting the same thing, and while Meredith was pacing the floor, talking on the phone, Kimberly was feverishly typing on her cell phone.

“Hold on a second, Georgia.” Meredith held her phone against her chest and looked at me. “How are you feeling?”

I shook my head.

She walked over and patted me on the back. “They’ve sent out the Coast Guard, and a few other countries have mobilized their own search as well...” She gave me a soft smile. “They’re saying there’s a slight chance they could have landed.”

I’d done enough book research on aviation years ago to know they had no chance, but I returned her smile. “I’m sure.”

“It’s not impossible,” Kimberly said, still trying. “You, of all people, should know all about the successful water landings by planes.”

“There have only been two.” I stepped back, heading toward the bathroom. “One was in the Hudson. A river, not an ocean. The other was in the Pacific. The plane survived. Not the passengers.”

***

By afternoon, the total missing time of Flight 491 was eight hours. Long range helicopters, military aircraft, and coast guard boats had all been sent to scour the area where the plane last had contact.

Jake and his copilot’s employment histories were being repeated over and again, with the news media questioning as to why Jake was listed as the Pilot-Non-Flying instead of the less experienced Clarkson.

Elite Airways had yet to issue a formal statement regarding the incident, but a cameraman caught CEO Nathaniel Pearson watching a TV in an empty gate at JFK. He’s been slumped in a chair, crying.

My phone was still off per Kimberly’s suggestion, but hers had been ringing nonstop.

Interviewers wanted me to call in to their programs and speak about what I thought regarding the event, but they also wanted to know if I ever knew either of the pilots aboard.

Kimberly handily rejected every request, and in between her and Meredith taking care of me like I was some sort of small child, she distracted me whenever I wanted to talk about Jake’s funeral arrangements.

In the middle of me begging her to listen to me about the type of flowers I would want there, she “Shh’d” me and turned on the TV.

There was breaking news on CBS.

The brunette anchor cleared her throat and hazy images of an ocean and fog played on the screen behind her.

“Good evening, loyal viewers,” she said. “We now have an update on Flight 491. According to several sources, the plane was successfully ditched in the Pacific Ocean. The area where the plane lost contact with the control towers was three hundred miles outside of the rescue team’s previous search efforts, but they are all redirecting their efforts.” She touched her ear piece. “Sources are reporting that several passengers were able to make it off the aircraft and onto the plane’s emergency flotation rafts, but at this time we do not have a number. We will keep you posted...”