Janice finally reached the epicenter of the trauma, finding that the shrieking boy belonged to the old man with the head injury. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“I think he might be dead,” said the boy, tears pouring down his cheeks, his arms wrapped tightly around his grandfather.

Janice looked at the old man. He looked very pale, and his mouth was hanging open at an odd angle. If she had to guess, she’d say that the boy was right in his assessment. She stuck out her fingers to take a pulse, but the boy batted her away.

“Leave him alone!” he said. “You’re not a doctor!”

“I’m just trying to help, you little brat!” she snapped, wishing she could reel the words back in immediately. “I’m just trying to help,” she said again, using a gentler tone, looking around to make sure everyone observed her smoothing out the misunderstanding.

The other flight attendants came running toward Janice from both ends of the aisle. “What’s going on?” Thad asked, coming up behind her.

“Where is the man who was just sitting here?”

“I think I saw him step into the restroom.”

“Go get this guy’s doctor,” Janice instructed Thad. She ordered the gawkers back to their seats, then covered her ears against the boy’s crying until the doctor finally showed up.

“Little boy,” Janice said. “The doctor’s here. We need you to sit down so we can take a look at your grandpa. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, suddenly releasing his grandfather. He sat down with a smile. The defiance that had creased his face only a moment earlier completely vanished.

Janice was stupefied.

The physician grabbed the old man’s wrist to check for a pulse.

The whole plane held its collective breath, waiting for the announcement. Janice put a hand on her forehead. The old man was dead. She knew it. They’d have to ride the entire journey with a dead stranger propped up in one of the seats.

“He’s alive,” the doctor said, with as much surprise in her voice as was on the faces of the rubberneckers.

“Really?” Janice asked, her incredulousness more apparent than intended.

“Check him yourself,” the doctor said, placing the old man’s wrist in her hand and walking away.

The other flight attendants left as well, leaving Janice to soak in a bath of hot glares. No one had forgotten her pronouncement of the sweet boy as a little brat.

“He spit at me,” she lied, shrinking behind the safety of the curtain.

August reached the back of the plane just as Clayton’s first scream ripped through the air. He stood outside the occupied restroom, feigning impatience, and waited until three flight attendants pushed past him on their way to the growing commotion. August didn’t hesitate, entering the flight attendants’ cubbyhole and throwing the curtain.