Twist Of Fate

Always Go For Your Intuitions

"I've called him thrice!" I exclaim, throwing my phone on the bed. "Thrice!" I throw my hands up in the air and then drop them against my thighs with a thud. "A fourth call and he'll think I've lost my mind and turned into a psycho stalker." I turn to face Kate, desperate for comfort that Harry has not forgotten about me, or blocked my number, mere hours after he left my house.
"Mus, chill out. Harry must be busy checking himself in, the luggage and then the boys and him will go grab some breakfast. He'll call once he's settled in the waiting lounge," Kate says.
"Yeah, maybe you're right." But the problem is, something doesn't feel right. I have this feeling that something bad is going to happen. "I'll go and make myself some tea. You want some?"
"I don't drink tea, and no, I'm good." Kate turns her gaze back to the tv.
"Okay," I murmur. Sighing, I get up and make my way - in my fuzzy slippers - toward the kitchen. Harry will call. He will call, I chant mentally. Honestly, I don't mind him not calling, I just can't get rid of this sinking feeling in my chest. All I want is to hear his voice once, to know he's okay. For some reason, I feel like something really bad is going to happen to Harry. God, I'm such a negative thinker.
"Girl, your phone's ringing!" Kate yells, making me drop the milk carton on the floor and run toward my room. I climb the stairs two at a time. When I grab my phone, my face falls and I want to punch Kate. It's not Harry, it's Gregg.
"Hello." I say, accepting the call anyway.
"Mus, have you reached Harry? He's not picking up my calls," Gregg says. Oh, so Harry's not ignoring me.
"No, I haven't been able to get through to him. I'm scared, Gregg." I exit the room and make my way back downstairs. By now the milk carton must be empty and the kitchen floor must be flooded white.
"Why, what happened?" Gregg asks, concern lacing his tone.
"Gregg, I have this feeling that something's going to happen. Something bad. Call it woman's intuition, or just paranoia, but I know it."
"Mus, everything's fine. Harry must be busy, or he must've kept his phone on silent."
"Yeah, but still." I insist, my eyes taking in the mess that's on the kitchen floor. "Oh, shit!"
"What?!" Gregg yells.
"Nothing, other than milk on the floor." I mumble, grabbing a cloth and bending down, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder.
"Oh, okay. Guess you're busy. Talk to you later," Gregg says.
"Bye," I say, ending the call. Now to clean this mess up.
*******
"Their flight's in the air, Kate." I say, turning my phone around, so that she can see the screen. Before Harry left, he hooked me up with this really cool app that allows me to monitor the flight Harry's on. It tells me where it is in the sky, how long till it'll reach it's destination and if there's any turbulence in the sky.
"Mus," Kate rolls her eyes. "Just...have patience, jackass." Pouting, I turn the phone back around and stare at the screen. It's been two hours since the flight took off and now I'm really worried. No calls, no texts. Not even to Gregg. I don't know if I'm happy about that, or sad. Both, I decide. Happy, because this means Harry's not ignoring me. Sad, because I don't know if Harry's safe, or okay.
"Kate, watch something other than crappy shows all day." I say, glancing at the program that's playing on the tv.
"Let me finish this episode and then I'll change the channel." Kate says, her eyes never leaving the television. Groaning, I throw myself on the bed and shut my eyes.
"Mus," Kate says, and then I feel someone shaking me.
"What?" I groan, turning around.
"Get up, please." Kate's voice is shaky and it breaks toward the end of the sentence. My eyelids fly open and I sit up, staring at Kate's teary eyes and red face.

"What happened?" I ask her, concern lacing my tone.
"It's..." Kate can't continue because she bursts into sobs. I pull her close to me, wrapping my arms around Kate's dainty body.
"Kate, it's okay, whatever it is." I say, passing my hand over her head. Suddenly, I noticed a hunched up figure sitting in the corner of my room, on the sofa. The room's dark, since the lights aren't on and when my eyes sweep over to the window, I realize it's night. The hunched up figure lifts his head and my eyes meet Gregg's crestfallen face.
"What's going on?" I ask him, as Kate pulls back and wipes her tears with her hand.
"Harry..." Gregg begins, but then he shakes his head. "The flight..." Why the heck isn't anyone giving me a coherent answer?
"Answer me!" I yell, my eyes sweeping from Gregg's face to Kate's and then back to Gregg. Instead of answering me, Kate's hand shuffles around the bed, until it closes around the remote of the tv. Then, she turns around and switches on the tv, changing channels until she reaches the desired one. It's CNN. They're covering...a plane crash. My breath gets stuck in my throat because I already know what this means. No, no, no.
"What's this?" I ask nobody, but myself. In a strip of red they're displaying the flight's number. "No," I murmur. It's the flight's number that Harry was supposed to be on. Must be on. The news reporter is saying that the plane's gone off radar and there was a cry for help just before it did. My hands grope around the bed for my phone. He's fine. Harry's going to pick up my call. He will not ignore it. I call Harry for the twentieth time today. After quite a few rings, the line goes dead. I call again. And again. And again. Until my phone's screen is covered with tears.