Sinners and Saints

Sinners and Saints Chapter 12 - My Baby, He Wrote Me a Letter

“Claire Elisabeth Saint?” she asks, an amused twinkle in her eye. 

“Yes,” I scan her up and down, sure that I’m mistaken and she’s not really a succubus.  But she is.  How is this even possible? 

“I’m Sister Mona,” she extends her hand. 

This has to be some kind of joke.  Something that Jill cooked up to cheer me up.  Seriously, a succubus dressed as a nun named Mona?  Moan-a?  If she tells me her last name is Lott I’m going back out to see if I can catch Jamie before he drives away. 

“Mona Little,” she says, offering her hand again. 

“Uh, pleased to meet you,” I step forward.  “So much for my last chance,” I think, “But Moan-a Little isn’t much better,” I add in my head. 

“No, Ms. Saint,” she pushes her hand forward again, “Your envelope please.  I did promise your young man.” 

“Oh,” I drop my hand and pull it out of my purse.  As soon as I hand it over she turns around and starts moving, “We don’t have much time, so we’ll just have to get acquainted and go over everything on the flight,” she says, marching briskly down the hall.  I nearly have to jog to keep up. 

We reach an open door and a sky-bridge beyond.  If it’s possible, it’s even colder in here and I scurry along the ramp after her and into a very luxurious private jet.  Burnished, burled wood and cream leather.  Soft lighting and deep reclining seats. 

“Whoa,” I all I can think. 

“Come sit,” Mona tells me, “You can put your purse in the slide-out here,” she points beneath a bench to a sliding door compartment. 

I stow my purse and buckle up.  I’m already homesick and we haven’t even taken off yet.  I can hear the captain making final checks, but his voice is too low to catch any of the words.  Another sister closes and secures the door, glances at us to see if we’re belted in, and then scurries through to the cockpit, locking that door too.  The whine of the engines gets louder and with a lurch we begin taxing.  I bite my lip and look out the window at the wet tarmac and low lights marking the runways. 

We take several turns and I can’t see the private terminal any longer.  I can’t tell if any of them are still there, waiting in their vehicles to see me lift off.  I can’t see Jamie’s truck from here.  Can’t see him from here. 

The tarmac looks wetter than it did.  The lights look fuzzy. 

Finally we slow after the last turn and sit still for a few minutes.  The whine of the engines is much higher now.  We’re about to take off and all I want to do is throw that door open and test just how invulnerable I am by jumping the twenty feet to the ground and sprinting away. 

But now we’re moving again, rushing down the strip and the engines are screeching out their power.  This is usually my favorite part of flying – the adrenaline rush of takeoff.   Now it’s so very wrong and it’s too late to stop.  I feel the extra pressure pushing me in my seat as we start our takeoff.  My eyes are glued to the window, watching the runway and lights get smaller and smaller as we climb. 

Climb and climb.  We circle the airport once, but all I can see is the main terminals.  Not the private one or the small lot outside.  It’s too dark and distant to see any one vehicle anyway.  I hope they are watching me, but I guess I’ll never know.  Eventually we straighten out, but we keep climbing for several more minutes before we level out and the engine-whine decreases as we reach cruising speed. 

The whole time, Sister Mona has been silent.  She’s watching me, I can feel her eyes on the back of my head, but she says nothing.  I’m grateful.  I really don’t feel like talking right now.