The Guardian of Threshold Read online

  “How are you doing?” Gilles asked as I tried to keep calm.

  “I guess… I’m okay.”

  “You can do this.” His confidence was infectious.

  As I got closer to the ground, I tried to restart the engine one more time, but it was useless. I can’t say I was surprised. I was about to make an emergency landing, and there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

  My only consolation was the prospect of maybe seeing my mother again.

  “Oh God, here we go!” I said, even though I was raised an atheist. There I was flying… no, I was falling at 85 mph, with nothing more than a few feet separating death and me.

  My heart pounded like it was trying to burst out of my chest. My hands burned. Sweat dripped from my forehead despite the cold, and my body shook uncontrollably.

  Silence was suddenly broken as chaos blared into life. I heard brakes screeching as motorists stopped violently when they realized I was about to land this beast of a plane right in front of them. The cars ahead of me swerved into the median as I fell the final few feet toward the pavement.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FROM BAD TO WORSE

  As a sudden warmth flooded my body, I managed to straighten the airplane just before it hit the interstate by applying all the left rudder I could at the last moment.

  I was astonished at how well I was doing. It was like I’d made an emergency landing before. The Cessna gently touched the wet asphalt. Honestly, it was the smoothest touchdown I had ever performed, almost like it wasn’t me flying. Then finally I understood: it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t have been able to pull that off. I had help, from whom I didn’t know.

  As my mind raced to figure out what had just happened, I forcefully and stupidly applied full brakes. Almost immediately, smoke started coming out of the landing gear as if it was on fire. Suddenly, the whole plane skidded sideways and came to a sudden stop on the grass median, narrowly missing a few cars.

  When I came about, I was in shock and unable to move… I had pulled it off. But that wasn’t me. They were my hands, but I wasn’t controlling them. The part where I pushed hard on the brakes, that was me. But not the rest.

  After a minute or so, I finally felt safe enough to move. I pushed the radio button and said, “I made it! I’m in the median, but I made it.”

  “Are you all right?” asked Gilles and the tower operator, almost at the same time.

  “I think I am… I just have a bump on my head,” I said as something warm oozed down my forehead. I ran my finger along my scalp to see the extent of the damage: blood dripped down my forehead, but the cut appeared minor. I wiped my bloody fingers on my pants and looked around to make sure that I and everyone else around me were in one piece.

  “Mark, hang on, emergency services are on their way!” Gilles said. I could hear his sigh of relief over the radio.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the passenger door. My door was blocked by the median. The Cessna’s left wing almost touched the grass, but aside from some worn tires and a badly bent propeller, the airplane seemed to be in fairly good shape. Wish my head had been so lucky.

  When I stumbled outside, I noticed that traffic had come to a halt on both sides of the highway. Some motorists had come out of their cars to see if I was okay. Some seemed thrilled, while others appeared upset and looked at me with accusing eyes. How dare I mess up their afternoon commute?

  My whole life, I’d never seen so much action in one place. The sound of sirens filled the air. In the distance, I could see an army of EMTs, police cars, and fire trucks making their way toward me. They used the median, the interstate shoulder, and any other openings they could to get to me. Scattered emergency lights decorated both the northbound and southbound lanes.

  “Are you all right?” asked the first police officer on the scene.

  “I’m… okay,” I said, still shaking and bleeding.

  Emergency vehicles and news vans quickly surrounded the place. There were even a couple helicopters circling above. One was from the police department, and the other was from a local TV station.

  “What’s your name?” the officer asked politely as she opened her first aid kit and examined my wound.

  “Mark,” I said. “Mark Anthony Ryser.”

  “Mark! Were you flying that airplane? Is there anyone else?” she asked, looking at the plane.

  “No, there isn’t anyone else. I ran out of fuel and had to make an emergency landing,” I said, afraid I would be in trouble.

  “Well… nice landing,” she said and smiled, much to my surprise.

  “So… I’m not in trouble?”

  “Not that I know of. I’m sure the FAA will eventually have some questions for you. They’re the ones who investigate this sort of thing,” she said casually. “Now, Mark, I need to inform your parents. What’s your mom’s number?”

  “My mom’s dead,” I said as she cleaned the wound on my forehead and placed a bandage over it.

  “I’m sorry. Who’s responsible for you?” she asked politely.

  “My dad,” I said reluctantly. I could only imagine the kind of trouble I would be in after he found out.

  “We need to contact him. Can you call him?” She took out her notepad and started to take notes.

  I reached for my cell phone in my left pocket, but when I was just about to dial my dad’s number, the phone rang in my hands.

  “Dad?” I asked, surprised. “I need to tell you something—”

  “Are you okay? I’m watching you on the news right now!” he said. I’d never heard my dad sound so worried before.

  “Yes, thank God. I’m fine, but the police need to talk to you.” I was tempted to just pass the phone to the officer, afraid of what he would say to me.

  “I’m glad you’re all right. Don’t worry… everything will be fine. Please put the officer on.”

  “Sure.”

  Soon, I was completely surrounded by police, paramedics, and firefighters. Everyone seemed to be excited or at least amused by all the action. Against my wishes, the paramedics loaded me into the back of the ambulance to take me to the Lahey Clinic Medical Center emergency room. The ambulance took off, driving through the grass to avoid the traffic congestion I had created.

  When we arrived at the hospital, my dad was already outside waiting for the ambulance—he must have been in the area because there was no way he could’ve made it there from Stoneham with all that traffic. Apparently, he was still on the phone with the police officer, only putting down the phone when they unloaded me from the ambulance.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when he saw me being carried inside the hospital.

  “I’m fine, Dad. I guess they need to check me out just in case,” I said to calm him down.

  By the time I arrived in the hospital, the paramedics had already started an IV and some medicines. Even though I felt fairly fine, they told me not to move around much. It wasn’t long before a doctor came in to examine me. He introduced himself as Dr. Raymond. I tried to explain that I was fine, but it was useless. He ordered blood work, MRIs, and x-rays.

  After a couple hours of waiting around, I saw Dr. Raymond again. He walked in, chart in hand, sporting a bright smile.

  “I got good news and bad news,” he said. “Which one do you want first?”

  “I’ll take the good news.”

  “Well, you’re fine, and you can go home as soon as we finish processing your discharge papers.”

  “What’s the bad news?”

  “Bad news is that there’s an army of reporters waiting outside to hear from you. They aren’t sure if you’re a hero or a villain.”

  “Do I have to talk to them?”

  “You don’t have to. Besides, I wouldn’t worry too much about what they think. Anyone who can land an airplane on the interstate is a hero in my book. Best of luck to you.”

  After a painful injection in my butt and a couple signatures, the doctor discharged me. Apparently, the injection was for pain. I was just thankful the c
ut on my forehead didn’t require any stitches.

  We managed to escape most of the reporters by leaving through a staff door. Unfortunately, we left the hospital just in time for the rush hour. Traffic was the worst I’d ever seen, and it was entirely my fault. It was the first time I’d gotten stuck in traffic that I was the cause of.

  My dad turned on the radio. I was glad at least it filled the void and awkwardness in the air.

  “Your afternoon commute is bound to be a mess. Heavy traffic remains on both lanes of I-95 around the Burlington Mall exit because of an unusual crash. An airplane had to perform an emergency landing right on the interstate. It’s still unclear how long the cleanup will take,” said the traffic report.

  “That’s what I call an attention-getter.”

  I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn’t reply.

  As we passed the scene of the crash, the airplane was still in the exact same spot, surrounded by a bunch of guys wearing black jackets, backpacks, and baseball caps. They were examining every inch of it and jotting down notes.

  “They must be from the FAA,” my dad said as we drove slowly by.

  I turned my face the other way and pretended not to pay any attention. I didn’t feel like talking about it. Not to mention that I was afraid the FAA guys would want to talk to me. I still hoped for a peaceful end to an otherwise hectic and emotionally charged day.

  We ordered pizza on the way. We were both exhausted, and honestly, neither one of us was what anyone would call a great cook.

  I headed upstairs and hopped in the shower. I had every reason to be happy, but I wasn’t. On the contrary, I felt even more depressed. It’s true that I was alive and well, but my mother wasn’t. She died all those years ago, and it was my fault. It wasn’t her time. Unable to hold all the emotions in any longer, I just stood under the water and cried. The water was so hot it burned my skin, but the physical pain eased my emotional pain, so I didn’t bother to turn it off. When I couldn’t take anymore, I shut the water off just in time to hear the pizza guy ring the doorbell.

  I rushed downstairs and grabbed a couple slices of the extra cheese pizza and went back up to my room to watch some TV while I ate.

  I had almost forgotten about the events of the day when the ten o’clock news started.

  “Breaking news: an amazing emergency landing was performed by the sixteen-year-old Mark Anthony Ryser after he ran out of fuel.”

  The news anchor then proceeded to show footage from the helicopter.

  I watched myself stumble out the airplane and glance around, looking dazed and confused. My forehead was bleeding worse than I remembered. I gazed in awe as I almost fell but barely caught myself. I saw the Burlington police officer park her patrol car as she rushed over to help me. She sat me on the grass, and in no time at all, she had assessed the situation and opened her first aid kit while checking my limbs and head. She flashed a flashlight in my eyes, which I didn’t remember. Come to think of it, she did a lot of things that I didn’t remember. I guess I was truly in shock.

  The news cut to someone reporting live from the scene of the accident.

  “Good evening. For many of us, this was a day to remember during this holiday shopping season. After all, it’s not every day we see an airplane land on the interstate. Luckily, no one was seriously hurt.”

  “Is it true that he was just a kid?” the news anchor asked. “Here at the station, we heard that he’s just sixteen.”

  “That’s right, Phillip. Sixteen-year-old Mark was performing his first solo flight when the weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. After several failed attempts to land at Hanscom field, the young pilot ran out of fuel and had to land on the interstate.”

  “Wow, this is just amazing. This kid is a hero.”

  “Well, that’s debatable. He could’ve hit the Burlington Mall. One little miscalculation on his part and hundreds could’ve been hurt,” said the reporter in the field.

  I really didn’t like that guy. I wondered what he would have said if he knew I hadn’t done any calculations at all; there weren’t any to do.

  “I personally think he’s a hero. I can’t imagine being sixteen and having to perform an emergency landing on the busiest New England interstate,” the news anchor said in my defense. I was so tired that I couldn’t even appreciate the fact that he was trying to help me, so I changed the channel to Comedy Central to see if I could relax a bit and hopefully fall asleep.

  Maybe I should skip school tomorrow, I thought. I’m sure all anybody will want to talk about is my emergency landing. I will probably have to explain it a million times to Jonas, my best friend, but at least him I can stand.

  I ended up spending most of my Friday sitting in front of the computer playing video games in my pajamas; I couldn’t bear the thought of going to school.

  It was almost four o’clock when the doorbell rang. I was so distracted that I failed to realize Jonas would definitely be stopping by after school, and I was sure Carla—his twin sister—would be with him. I couldn’t afford to let her see me in my pajamas so I got dressed as quick as I could while my father kept yelling at me to answer the door.

  “Hey,” I said, almost out of breath.

  “Are you okay?” Carla asked. “We heard what happened.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “How did it happen?” asked Carla, looking concerned.

  “Well, the storm got me by surprise, it came out of nowhere, and I couldn’t see the runway.”

  “Oh my god, that’s insane,” said Carla, looking at my forehead.

  “You could have been killed,” said Jonas. “Were you scared?”

  “Yes, very scared. I thought that was it.”

  “The school was filled with insane stories about your emergency landing,” Jonas said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some people said you were so high you couldn’t find the runway, while others think you’re a legend for being able to land like that,” said Carla. “You know how people exaggerate.”

  “One thing is for sure,” said Jonas, “you’re sort of a celebrity. Are you going out to dinner with us tonight?”

  “No, thanks, not tonight. I think I’ll just veg out and play video games or something.”

  “I’ll be online later if you want to play,” said Jonas.

  After I gave them countless assurances that I was all right and explained the whole ordeal in great detail, they finally seemed satisfied.

  ***

  On Monday, I was late for the school bus as usual, but at least I didn’t have to bang on the doors for Gus to open them. I guess he felt bad for me. As soon as I stepped inside the bus, silence ensued. I took the first free seat I could find, and the bus was about to start moving when we heard a loud bang on the door. I was pleasantly surprised to see Carla with her beautiful brunette hair and innocent face entering the bus. Behind her was Jonas with his round face and somewhat large and clumsy body climbing the stairs.

  I moved aside, hoping Carla would sit next to me, but she chose the seat right behind me instead. Jonas threw his backpack on the empty seat next to Carla and made himself comfortable by my side.

  “Good morning,” Carla said, smiling.

  “Hey, nice to see you guys.”

  “We figured you might need some company just in case anyone wants to be funny or mess with you,” said Jonas, looking tired. He wasn’t used to being up this early because his mother drove him and Carla to school every morning on the way to work. They had insisted several times that I ride to school with them, but I chose not to… just seeing their mother made me miss mine even more.

  In school, everyone seemed to be staring at me, but few dared to ask for details. My teachers were especially nice during the beginning of the week, but that quickly faded, and before I knew it everything was back to normal.

  ***

  Friday, 18th of December

  It happened again last night: it was the same nightmare I’d been having night after
night after my mother died, but since last week’s accident, they had become stronger and more frequent, haunting me constantly.

  The nightmares usually featured the same diabolical figure, but last night it was different. This time, it talked to me while it chased me around that damp cave.

  The figure taunted me. I think it wanted me to face it. I was afraid the nightmares were here to stay. I could still see that ungodly place whenever I blinked, down to even the smallest, gory detail. I could still smell the fetid and infested air of that cave. And although I couldn’t see them, I was certain putrid corpses lay hidden under the thick cover of darkness.

  How long would I be haunted by these nightmares? I couldn’t seem to stop them. Each night, the nightmares got worse. After a while, I even started to dream about the disturbing figure staring at me from the foot of the bed as I slept, studying me. As the nights passed, the figure became clearer and even more menacing. Lately, I could sense it near me even when I was awake. For Christ’s sake, I could feel it standing next to me in the bathroom, on the bus, in school, and even in the airplane before I had my emergency landing. As if it was waiting for the first opportunity to get me. But when I looked around, there was nothing. Nothing except a sense of dread that evaded any logic and yet seemed to consume any shred of hope.

  I thought I was doing a pretty good job at controlling my anger, but lately I’d been… more direct and much less patient with everything and everyone than usual.

  I just wished I could get a normal night’s sleep like everyone else.

  The worst part was that I was clueless why this was happening. Was I losing it? Maybe I’d already lost it and just didn’t know.

  There was something strange in the figure’s voice—maybe if I weren’t so scared, I would’ve investigated it further.

  Although my heart pounded, I glanced at the clock. It was four in the morning. The room was still covered in darkness, so for the rest of the night I just laid there in the dark. Too scared to scream, too terrified to even move. My only protection was the thin cotton sheet covering my body. I didn’t dare to close my eyes except for blinking, and even that I tried to avoid.