He headed for the baggage carousel in a daze, and couldn’t for the life of him remember anything along the way when he finally got there. His bag went around several times before it even occurred to him to look for it. All he could think about was the redhead.
Grant had never been a big fan of mysteries, and this one had really knocked him off balance. Why would she tell him to change his return flight? Assuming, of course that he hadn’t been hallucinating all along. No one else seemed to be able to see her. And yet, she had issued his tickets, checked in his bags and whispered in his ear that he must change his return flight.
He went outside and got a taxi to his hotel and was so preoccupied the entire way there he didn’t realize the ride was over until the cabbie asked him for the fare. When he was settled in to his room he decided to make a call to the airline. He met with much resistance when he explained that he was inquiring about employees working the counter that day and the flight he had been one. He was told in no uncertain terms by three different people he spoke to that information of that sort was not given out to the public.
At one point he explained about how the other attendants had told him there no redheads working on that flight even though he had seen her, but that only seemed to make matters worse. Finally he hung up, more frustrated than ever. There had to be some way to get the bottom of this thing.
He looked at his return ticket again; hoping it might yield a clue to the solution, as though it were some sort of oracle, but it was fruitless. He had an early morning flight three days hence. It was just an ordinary ticket for an aisle seat on United Airlines flight 175 from Boston to Los Angeles. Nothing about the flight or seat number gave him anything to go on. In frustration he put the ticket aside and began going over his notes for the meeting the next day.
All through the meeting and everything else he had to do that day he tried valiantly to not be distracted, but the face of the redhead kept popping into his mind. He could still hear her voice in his ear and see her mouthing the words, telling him he must change his flight.
He thought about the possibility of simply doing that and thus and putting an end to the nonsense, but that still wouldn’t explain how all of it had come about in the first place. He headed back to his hotel room at the end of the day and was heading for the elevator when the desk clerk waved him over.
“A message for you sir.”
He took the proffered piece of paper and unfolded and read it. He stood there and felt his vision narrow and the blood race to his head. In elegant feminine handwriting it read ‘have you changed your flight yet?’ He tucked the note into his breast pocket and walked numbly to the elevator.
When he got to his room he collapsed into a chair and stared at the wall for a very long time.