The Four Letter L word

Sweet Manhattan

The receptionist was asked if she saw the woman. The sketch was ready, and as it was attached to the file with her name on it, Love.

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Flights. Love hates flights. The one who scares the strongest, is scared, of being in the air, of course. But here she sat, in an almost empty flight. She had no clue why she was on it. The only reason she came to the airport was because Delilah asked her too. Her man, handed Love a ticket to Lawrence. And without answering a single question she was sent to departure. With a little pout on her lips, she grumbled to herself, as she held the handles as tight as she could. Breath in breath out was her mantra right now. The never ending turbulence was the reason she prayed with whole her heart. And then it went away. The turbulence...and the faith. Love couldn't really help her attitude.

She took the water offered by the host. Finally up in the air, she removed the belt from her waist and eased herself in her seat. Only eight seats were occupied, including hers. She turned her head to look around, see where the people sat, and to be aware of the one who seemed suspicious. And one man turned to her. The other woman smile. One got irritated. Fine, she thought. Turning back, she took a deep breath before getting off her seat, and move to the loo. As she moved, she noted the seats and the men. The guy in the white suit looked at Love, smiled, and looked back at the magazine he held in his hands. He had a charming smile. The one that intoxicates women...but not Love, maybe.

Once inside, she looked in the mirror. What had she gotten herself into. Can't even run out. Great. She unlocked the door, only to see the people still sitting in their seats. She took a few steps of confidence towards the man in white suit. He seemed rather too pure to believe.

"Hello," Love smiled at the man, as she took the aisle seat next to him.

The man returned the smile.

"So, you are off to Lawrence?" Love asked.

"No, New York," the man said with the intoxicating smile.

"On a flight to Lawrence?" Love asked in confusion. That was one hell of a stupid question, she thought.

The man raised his eyebrows at her, "Exactly."

"I'm Love," she introduced.

"I'm the last man you'll ever meet," he said.

Before Love could process his words, she pushed herself back on her seat as a knife missed her jugular vein with a centimeter. With another move of the hand, she managed to block his attacking hand below her waist just in time. The man next locked Love's neck in his arm, and as she asphyxiated, he felt satisfied. Stretching the man's arm wasn't an option, he was too muscular for her. Love tried to call for help, but no one seemed to turn around, and the air host didn't seem to be around. She tried to feel something near her, solid enough to hit the man with it. And to her relief she found a bottle, thankfully a filled one. She hit the man's head with the little power that she was left with. She rose from her seat, while she coughed, taking in as much air as possible. Her watery eyes deprived her to clear sight. With the little conscious she regained, her hands came across a cervical pillow.

"You shouldn't have done that," the man with the bloody nose, who wore a white suit said, still seated on his seat. The man's another hit with the butter knife, hit the cervical pillow, tearing it from one side. But the material was still intact, so Love placed herself on top of him, and in one quick instant blocked his hands under the knees, and placed the cervical pillow around his neck.

"What do you think you're doing?" the man said. And those were his last words, with his last smile, as he was suffocated to death.

As Love rose from her seat, she looked around to face the shocked reactions, but to her shock, no one in the plane had noticed the little meeting. Love went to her seat patiently, and turned around, only to notice the lifeless bodies on the few seats behind her. The people who sat behind her were dead, with asphyxiation.