Someone's In My Head (WATTYS AWARD WINNER 2015)

Chapter Twenty-Six (Pt. 1)

I think I'll just summarize the whole two-hour journey in two words: déjà vu.

Everything was exactly the same as my last flight: The interior of the cabin, the position where Layla and I were sitting, and the fact that we were also leaving something expensive behind this time (the Ducati). Even the pilot's name was still Mason, although I couldn't be sure if it was the same guy, as his face was concealed by those gigantic goggles and headphones that made him look like an anorexic black panda.

We didn't do much throughout the flight, though. Well, besides dozing off a little bit. The hectic day had done quite an effective job of sapping me of my energy, so when the adrenaline retreated out of my bloodstream, I was swamped by exhaustion. So I pretty much conked out once I got aboard.

I woke to the sound of clapping. Disoriented, all I could think was: Wait, did I fall asleep while giving my valedictory speech? I shook my head frantically, trying to make any sense of what was going on.

Then I saw Layla. She was peering at me curiously, mischief written all over her face. "Yo! Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead." She blared.

I was still halfway into panic mode when realization hit me. "Where am I―oh!"

"Thank God, Jarod!" Layla was gushing away. "You know, you've been sleeping for two days now―"

"What?!"

"―and yeah, we're about to cross the border of Mexico, so you better get your green card handy."

Inside my head, Phil roared with laughter.

I shook my head in exasperation. CIA agents (and probably ex-military dudes) really do have an atrocious sense of humour. "Layla? Do me a favour and give me a heads-up when you're planning to say something like that next time."

"Oh, come on. Was I really that bad?" Layla pouted.

Phil was still chuckling. "Yeah, c'mon Jarod! You gotta give the girl some credit for trying."

Sweet Jesus. I rubbed my thumbs around my temples and went for the textbook 'Evade Her Question with another Question' strategy. "Didn't you take a nap, Layla?"

"Wasn't really in the mood."

I shrugged. "Alright...uhh...so, what's our twenty?"

"Ah, yes!" Layla sprang into action, as if my words had reminded her of something important. "We're currently around thirty minutes out, so I'll just brief you about what's gonna happen later."

"Sure." I shifted slightly in my seat. My butt was starting to cramp, but I decided not to bring that up. "Although you've yet to tell me where we're headed."

Layla sighed. "To be frank, I don't have the slightest idea where we're headed either. All I know is that we're gonna go meet Royce in one of the safe houses in Virginia. Once we get there, he's gonna debrief me, then together we'll devise a plan to save your missing friend."

"Yeah, Tanya is probably―"

I broke off mid-speech.

Shit. I realized I was plunged into a dilemma: if I told Layla about Tanya now, I would have to reveal the existence of Phil in my head as well. And though he wasn't exactly a fictitious 15-year-old ghost, I wonder how Layla would take the news. Maybe she might believe what I say and agree to help me find and defeat The Duke. Well, it'd better be that, 'cause the alternative―Layla decides that I'm a little light in my loafers and throws me off the Blackhawk―is kinda depressing.