Flight Of Fate

Chapter Six - Life Goes On

One year later.

Thranduil sat behind his large desk. The polished wood reflected the gleam from the overhead lights; small halogen bulbs that were set into the ceiling of the room. Not a speck of dust was visible. His laptop screen was black, and his large notepad blank. An expensive pen lay to one side, unused.

His ice blue eyes looked, but saw nothing.

His thoughts were where they usually were – in the past.

One of the helicopters that had landed at the crash site had airlifted Kira, with attending medics working hard to save her life. He never knew where they took her.

He never knew her surname.

He never found out if she survived or not.

He'd asked, he'd pleaded, he'd begged, and he'd threatened. But no-one could or would tell him anything. Patient confidentiality and protocol and procedure had been among the answers he'd been given. The Private Detective he'd hired a few days after his release from hospital had met with a brick wall. The airline company refused to reveal details for any of the passengers. The medical services refused to reveal names of their patients. Insurance companies refused to divulge who, if any, had received a financial settlement from the airline.

He himself had been awarded just shy of a quarter of a million dollars. Investigations had shown that a cargo door on the flight had become detached, causing an explosive decompression in the plane. This had been why the floor had collapsed, the result being severed hydraulic cables. The flight had spiralled out of control, with the pilots having no handling whatsoever over the aircraft, and thus plummeting down into the forest. There had been no power to the stricken craft, explaining the absence of lighting or engine control.

The body of the plane, he'd found out, had split into three sections. Only he and Kira had survived, being in the tail section. The wings had been torn off as they'd hurtled through the forest and caused a blaze quite a few miles from where the tail had settled. The search and rescue teams had spent three weeks hunting for bodies, and still hadn't accounted for everyone on the flight.

His heart twisted as he thought of that doomed night.

So many passengers had boarded, either going home, on vacation, or perhaps meeting family members who they hadn't seen in a long time.

And they never would.

A thousand doctors and specialists had questioned him when he'd been helicoptered to the hospital. Endless questions on the crash, how he survived, what he'd done, did anyone else survive, where were they, what injuries did he have, how did he feel. They'd angered him within minutes.

He'd wanted to know where Kira was, where they'd taken her.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't have that information."

"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know."

"I can try to find out for you, Sir."

"I apologise Sir, but I'm not allowed to divulge the details of any patient."

"With respect, Sir, policy dictates that we do not part with anyone's details."

He sighed as he looked down at his hands which rested on the desk, clasped together. Hands that had held her as he'd made love to her, hands that had stroked her hair and comforted her when she'd been upset. Hands that had held her tightly to ward off the freezing cold.

Memories surged forwards in his mind with alarming speed.

The warmth radiating from her as they'd snuggled together, fast asleep. The softness of her long hair as he'd buried his face in it, absorbing her unique aroma. The feeling of her long legs tucked between his during the night. The taste of her as he'd kissed her, drowning them both in a fast-flowing whirlpool of pleasure. The sparkle in her dark blue eyes when she laughed. The feel of her smooth skin against his own.