Synchronicities on the Avenue of the Saints by Deborah Gaal

Author:Deborah Gaal [Gaal, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: psychological thriller, psychoactive drug, shaman, magic, experimental drug
Publisher: Indie Author Project
Published: 2020-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

Noah jostled his way forward to board American flight two-three-five to Minneapolis. Sticky. Airless. Sweat trickled down the sides of his face. A wave of claustrophobia flooded through him, and he elbowed for a small piece of turf.

He shuffled to avoid stepping on the petite sandaled feet in front of him—tender heels, hot-pink toenails, an ankle bracelet with a heart.

The man behind him sneezed. A loud, wet spray of microscopic bacteria nose-dived in his direction. Noah could already feel his cilia surrendering to the foreign invasion. Great. He’d be hacking and coughing, his alveoli puffed and swollen by the time he spiraled into full-blown mania on the twenty-third. Tomorrow.

He found his spot, row twenty-three, seat B. In the middle, of course. What else? He slipped into his seat, relieved to gain distance from the germ mass-producer.

A woman sat in the window seat, staring out at the tarmac. A bald spot peeked from the middle of her gray, curly bob. Snowflakes of dandruff dusted her black blouse.

Noah tried not to disturb her as he stowed his backpack on the floor in front of him, shoving it to one side. There wasn’t much in it: The Elegant Universe by Brian Green, “The Cosmic Life Cycle” (a special, just-received edition of Scientific American), a tooth brush, paste, floss, and “Synchronicities II.”

He felt agitated, and cramped. He hoped to calm down, catch a nap. He fastened his seat belt, leaned back, closed his eyes and visualized himself safe in his apartment.

A sweet smell hit his nostrils.

Cinnamon.

Hadassah. A jolt of fear coursed through him. His eyes flew open. He gripped the arms of his seat.

The woman beside him poked his left arm. “Would you like some?” Her voice was Southern soft and charming. “I don’t know how they expect anyone to eat all this.” She motioned to a cinnamon roll almost as large as the tray table before her.

Noah recognized the pink and brown cardboard Cinnabon container, a whimsical advertisement for franchising obesity in America. He’d always marveled at the snaking lines of people securing their flight to-go box of artery-clogging cream cheese frosting and eleven hundred useless calories.

“Please, have some,” she said.

He laughed to himself at his cinnamon paranoia and heightened imagination. No danger. No ghost on board. His neck muscles unclenched.

He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Well, if you change your mind. It’s not like you’d owe me.”

Her dark eyes pierced him. His skin prickled with alarm. What’s wrong with you? Chillax. She’s nice. Friendly. Lonely.

“You’re kind. Thanks.” He forced a smile and stiffened as the plane shimmied away from the gate.

He needed to rid himself of his nerves and this feeling of impending doom by focusing on something else. He took a deep breath, turned away from his seatmate and pulled out two loose sheets of paper, an envelope and a pen from his pack. He reviewed the two letters he’d written.

To Whomever Finds This Note:

My name is Noah Friedman. If I’m wandering around and look lost or confused, please contact Fleck McNulty at 314-993-8574.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.