The Plant

Anxiety violently clawed at Hannah’s chest. She wiped her sweaty palms against her expensive leggings, hoping to soothe herself, but it was no use. Her heart pounded in the same staccato rhythm of gymnast doing tumbles across a mat – irregular and hard. What felt like a woofer system at full blast pounded in her ears as beads of sweat traced the ringlets that formed her baby hairs before trickling down her sharp, square jawline.

She kept her eyes on the middle-aged pilot, some guy named Raoul, who looked more like he should have been off somewhere singing in a rock band rather than flying a private jet. He hadn’t even settled in the cockpit before he was back up prancing down the aisle toward Hannah. Her neck craned around as he passed her as she swallowed the urge to scream at him to just get this plane off the ground already. She reached forward and messily guzzled the half empty glass of pink Catawba wine in front of her, licking her lips after, just to give herself something to do, anything to dislodge the heightened feeling of paranoia settling over her.

She didn’t trust Raoul as far as she could throw him, no matter how much Milos assured her he was credible and reliable. He was Milo’s longtime friend after all, and it didn’t hurt that they’d paid him one hundred thousand dollars to uphold his end of the bargain and take them to Montenegro. Still, had it been up to Hannah, she would have just flown first-class from the main airport and called it a day.

A ragged sounding breath broke through her lips as Raoul made another trip to the back of the plane after flirting with the cockpit entrance for a few minutes. She focused on a small smudge on the window, probably the only flaw in the entire plane, as she tried to convince herself it was better this way. Milos wouldn’t risk their freedom on some old friendship unless he was absolutely certain it would pull through. Besides, this plane was the nicest thing she’d ever seen. She could practically see her reflection in almost every surface as it was polished and gleamed to perfection, and what she couldn’t use as a mirror, was all soft, buttery leather.

The personalized wine station had been the first thing she’d attacked, mostly from stress and just a smidgeon from her burst of excitement. She was already planning her second round in a small corner of her brain that wasn’t ravaged by the growing pang of anxiety.

Feeling slightly mollified by her shiny surroundings, she settled only slightly. Yes, if she had just done things her way, she would have missed out on the refreshment center inside this state-of-the-art mass of sophistication, and besides, she was curious to know how the purification system worked. She’d heard that it prevented jetlag after traveling long distances. She didn’t want to waste a single second of her newfound freedom sleeping.

Hannah tried relaxing her posture, but it was all in vain. Milos reached over and squeezed her hand gently, massaging her palm with his middle finger. Hannah tapped the glass face of her watch a little harder than necessary and stared at the gold bumble bee display that appeared beneath her touch. Precious minutes were passing for no other reason than this pilot's inability to go five minutes without being admired by none other than himself. He kept flicking his over-processed bleach blonde bangs and flexing his extremely tanned biceps. She noticed a dragon tattoo peeping from under the short sleeve of his pilot’s uniform. It seemed strangely edgy for such a pretty looking man, but she could hardly make herself care when precious time was ticking away.

They needed to go now.

Her mind seemed to spike with anxiety.

She was ten seconds from screaming at Raoul when he finally walked into the cockpit, the door sealed shut behind him. She relaxed her hands slightly as the steady hum of the plane’s engine began to vibrate beneath them. She was sure that if she’d managed to relax more, she wouldn’t have felt anything, but she was so in-tuned to every sound and movement, everything felt intensified.

The final breath that was lodged in her chest since that morning, released as the plane blissfully left the ground alas. Milos was still rubbing her hand with soft gentle touches. Reaching forward, her hand had lost its violent tremble, just enough for her to clasp her drink and take a reviving sip.

Her anxiety was beginning to dissipate as her thoughts drifted to Inspector LeMieux and the little gift she left for him this morning. He was sharper than most, and a little part of her wished she could see his reaction as he returned home from a long night just to find the lush plant she’d left for him, nestled between his row of marigold flowers.

She couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that curled her lips. She considered the plant a kind of thank you present that mocked his Poirot-like senses. By now, he will have begun arousing his own curiosity; dissecting and gleaning any of the important, telling details of the plant.

Her mom would always say, “The devil is in the details,” and Hannah had enough of the devil in her memory to last a lifetime. She wondered how long it would take for him to eventually realize what he was holding. She knew that his mind wouldn’t rest until he discovered its secrets. He was too paranoid to think it was just a plant, and he was too smart to not eventually realize that it had something to do with her mother's mysterious death.

She knew a man like LeMieux didn’t miss much, and whatever his blind spots were, he usually took extra precautions. He would have his suspicions about the origins of the plant and who left it along his brick-enclosed flowerbed that neatly outlined the front of his modest home. She didn’t doubt that he had cameras lining the perimeter of his yard, and she hadn’t gone to the trouble of disguising her face when she dropped the plant off.

As they flew a long slew of clouds, her brain quickly separated into two thoughts simultaneously. She wondered how the plane’s flight managed to remain so smooth where other planes she’d been on would always start bouncing in a cloud this dense. She eyed her drink, perfectly undisturbed, and finally turned her attention to its partner thought.

The last five seconds reminded her of LeMieux more than she’d like to admit. It didn’t matter what she threw at him, what loophole she found, who she paid, or what she paid to have planted – he always knew even if he couldn’t prove it.

He was never one step ahead of her, but he was never more than one step behind her. It was unnerving to meet a man so intuitive, especially when he was looking for ways to incriminate her.

When she’d batted her eyes at him the first day of the investigation, his dark blue eyes didn’t even blink. He made it very clear that he neither bought her innocent girl act nor the aggressive rich woman. She actively switched between the two, hoping to overwhelm him like she did Sheriff Caulfield.

He was like this plane in a cloud – completely unfazed. But she’d discovered the small ticks of his expression now, indicating his frustration. His left eyebrow would curl ever so slightly while the corner of his right lip would twitch with displeasure. It was the most she’d even seen him react, and the first time she saw it was when she’d burst into tears the first time he questioned her.

His stoic face haunted her thoughts even as she stood on his doorstep with the plant in hand. She looked up at every corner of the doorway, wherever there might be a camera, and grinned widely – practically triumphant.

It was a bold move and an even bolder statement by gifting the inspector the sophisticated yet deceptive green cluster. She’d used her favorite pot. It was the best she’d ever made at Pewabic Pottery, and she was rather fond of it. Perfect enough to cradle her specially grown belladonna beauty. It seemed almost poetic and nearly orgasmic to gift it to the Inspector, after he'd made her life a living hell for the last few weeks.

She hardly cared now though.

She glanced over at her Louis Vuitton carry-all bag, sitting adjacent to her, nicely cradling its contents protectively. Her plan was working, and nothing mattered more. She could finally, finally see the light at the end of the tunnel – some glory ahead that promised a long, languorous life filled with nothing but planes equipped with private lounges, hotel concierge services, 60-foot yachts and the like.

As the plane finally reached its altitude, a sinister grin crossed over Hannah’s mouth as she delicately swallowed another sip of wine. Her new life would begin in less than fifteen hours, and already, she was cataloging what she was going to do first. She leaned over Milo’s lap to stare out of the window, marveling at how blissfully small the world looked – every second taking her farther from her problems.

“How do you feel?” Milos asked. He squeezed her hand once more.

Hannah leaned back in her seat and sighed. “Tired.”

“It’s been a stressful couple of days.” Milos quickly downplayed her tumultuous ordeal.

Leave it to Milos to completely misunderstand how stressful things had been. He was always the guy that went with the flow, even when the flow was a tsunami wave threatening to swallow them completely. He rarely stressed. In fact, she’d never seen any intense emotion from Milos – not anger, joy, disgust, or even passion…

A small clang in the back of her mind, an act of self-preservation, warned her the thought was dangerous and unhelpful, so she shoved it aside. It wouldn’t do her any good to start questioning her relationship when Milos was the only person who seemed to be on her side.

They were starting a new life together, so she swallowed her frustration and acid response and let him continue to caress her hand. They were nearly free, and not even LeMieux’s knowing, unfeeling eyes could stop her now.