Milkshake

I gasp, surprised as Becca shoves past me - the first time she did it I crashed into on of the chairs and had a bruise the size of a croissant the next morning, but today... Well I'm used to it by now, not that it stops the bitter sigh that crosses my lips. It's not really my fault that everyone hates me, it's my dad's. He automatised most of the planes systems, leaving thousands of people without jobs and now everyone hates his daughter.

"Becca-" I start, knowing it'll be in vain but still unable to resist the temptation to try and get through to her.

"It's your fault not mine! Keep the aisles clear!" She growls at me before continuing back down the plane. I clench my fists but force a smile for the sake of the passengers.

"She seems fun," A blonde man, with a big, white, toothy grin says.

"As fun as flying a plane during a storm," I answer tiredly, it was going to be a long flight.

"I could take care of her for you," He offers and I chuckle.

"How much?" I joke.

"We can take care of that later. For now, please, excuse me," He says standing, and I step to the side. It's only then that I see the blood-red wink of a trident tattoo on the side of his wrist. The sight of it fills me with a sudden, intense, dread. We were just joking, right?

Hours later, I sit, finally able to rest my feet as I wait for the landing. Becca takes her seat too, and grabs one of her milkshakes. I turn my head to watch the descent, it's the whole reason I do this job, for this one exhilarating moment.

A horrible gurgling sound reaches my ears. I turn my head and gasp horrified to see Becca frothing at the mouth as her chest heaves.

I grab hold of her, and start pounding on her back - not knowing what to do and yet knowing that I had to do something.

For one sickening moment, she goes completely limp.

But, then she speaks, "Thank you... I don't know how this happened... I just wanted a drink,". She breaks down and starts to cry, and I rub her shoulder as comfortingly as I can manage.

We both give statements to the police and as I'm about to leave she wraps me up in the tightest hug of my life. I pat her shoulder awkwardly before walking away, heading back to my car.

A shock of blonde hair catches my eye as I'm walking away. I freeze, paralysed by what I'm seeing. The man stands there, blonde locks swaying, a maniacal, predatory grin on his face, his trident tattoo scarcely visible at this distance. I want to scream, I won't to shout, but I can't.

My phone chimes and, still watching him out of the corner of my eye, I lift it. My hands tremble so badly that I have to type the pass-code in twice.

Message from an unknown number, it tells me. I open it to find one word.

Soon, it promises.

I look back towards the man, only to find that he's gone. A ghost in the wind.