Departures

It was a bad day already, and it was barely midday.

Coming to a stop on the sidewalk, Jack stared down at his sandwich with resignation. Stronger emotions, such as disgust and disappointment, had departed long ago. Jack William O'hare dreamed of being disgusted.

The only flavour left to his lunchtime experience nowadays was a sort of numbed amazement that they could charge nine dollars for two slices of bread and some processed meat. Capitalism, Jack thought, without really understanding what he meant. 


Swiftly approaching footsteps broke his reverie, and he looked up just in time to see a trench coat with a man in it collide with him. Shortly after, from his new, ground-level vantage point, Jack watched a pair of converses beneath the coat disappear around the street corner.

Two pairs of well-polished dress shoes, accompanied by two sets of black suit trousers, darted past in hot pursuit.


Huh, Jack thought.

Pulling himself to his feet, he brushed himself down and looked around. No one seemed to be taking much interest in the event.

A woman at a bus stop stared pointedly ahead, whilst a street preacher continued his sermon without so much as batting an eyelid. Apparently, everyone in the world had a guardian angel, even if it didn’t seem like it. Yeah right.

Sighing, Jack looked down to see if his sandwich was salvageable. It wasn't. Nestled against a piece of lettuce, however, was a small, black notebook. Frowning, Jack bent to pick it up. He definitely hadn't noticed it in the first two bites. 


An embarrassing amount of seconds later, Jack realised the trench coat man must have dropped it. He trotted over to look around the street corner, but there was no sign of either the hunters or their quarry.

Jack turned the book over in his hands. Good quality black leather with gold inlay.

He opened the first page, wondering if the owner was the kind of person to write their name and address in notebooks. They were not. Flicking through the first few pages, all Jack could see were lines of numbers and letters. He'd have a closer look later.

Slipping the book into his back pocket, Jack went about his day.

Later that evening, Jack put the kettle on and then sat down on the couch with the book. Each line seemed to follow the same format: six numbers followed by either two or three letters. What they represented, though, he couldn't say.

Jack creased his brow in thought. He suspected trying to decipher them would be a waste of time, but realistically what else was he doing on a Tuesday. 


A knock at the door made him jump. Suddenly wary, he tucked the book behind a cushion and went to the door.

Creaking it open an inch, he saw two grim-looking men in suits (presumably, the ones connected to the dress shoes) accompanied by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She flashed him a dashing smile and then said,


"Hello Jack, would you mind if we came in?"


Her British accent didn’t seem to fit her, yet there was an irresistible allure to her words. Nodding numbly, Jack motioned them into the living room. He took a seat on the sofa, in front of the book.

The suits remained standing, but the woman glided across to his armchair. She wore an incredibly stylish, long blue coat, which she neatly tucked to the side as she sat.

Curled blond hair fell around a perfect oval face, from which two bright, green eyes pinned Jack to his seat. He started at her dumbly, wondering if she were an actress he'd seen before. 


The whistling kettle interrupted his staring, and, embarrassed, he stammered,

"umm, t...tea?"


She beamed at him. "Well, that would be lovely."


She nodded to one of the suits, who, without even looking at Jack, moved to the kitchen and started to make tea. 


“Now, Jack.” the woman said, "I'm afraid I'm terribly busy, so I'll get straight to the point. You came into contact with a dangerous escapee earlier today. A man who bumped into you outside your place of work. Do you remember?"

Jack could barely concentrate on her words for the way her lips moved. He'd never seen lips like that before. He must have replied, though, because now she was asking,


"Did he happen to drop anything? Anything that you subsequently picked up? It's ok, my dear; you won't be in trouble." 


That winning smile again. Perfect teeth set against perfect lips. And her skin. She practically shone with radiance. He gazed into those emerald eyes, eyes which now blazed in victory.


"Oh, perfect! Thank you so much, Jack. I'm afraid we will have to take that as evidence."


She was reaching towards him to take the book from his hands. Strange, he couldn't remember uncovering it...he'd hidden it, hadn't he? He'd...


The woman clapped her hands. 


"Right. Of course, you will be rewarded for your assistance.” She gestured to one of the suits, who came forward to place a thick envelope into his hands.


"That's twenty thousand dollars in there, darling. Do have fun with it. I hear Hawaii is nice this time of year." She gave him a wink.


"Anyway, must dash. Oh, there is one more thing. On the off chance that man from earlier comes by looking for you, we'd greatly appreciate it if you let us know.” She walked over and pressed a business card into Jack’s hand. She smelled amazing.


"Right, oh! Ta Ta!"

And in a blur of fabric, the three of them were out the door.

Jack went to the window to look after them, but they were already out of sight, despite the brightly-lit street lamps. It only occurred to him sometime later to wonder if he was in danger. 

Jack didn't sleep that night. He made a half-hearted attempt to count the cash and then a slightly more concerted effort to find package deals to Hawaii. But he was distracted.

To his surprise, it was not fear that kept him awake but curiosity. He tossed and turned in bed for an hour or two, then sprang up and went to his desk in search of pen and paper. 

The first rays of morning light found Jack asleep at his dining room table. Grunting himself awake, he yawned and removed the paper stuck to his forehead.

Squinting at his writing, Jack examined the codes he’d tried to copy from memory. One at the bottom read: 110121HHJ. If he tilted his head slightly, he could almost see a nose and a face...


Someone cleared their throat. Jumping out of his skin, Jack pushed himself away from the table and, brandishing his pen, looked up at the intruder.

An extremely handsome man in a brown-leather trench coat, faded jeans and converses stood facing him.

Jack couldn't help but admire the man's impressive jawline and baby blue eyes. Was he glowing? Detachedly, he wondered if he'd found himself in the middle of a supermodel conspiracy. 


"Sorry to intrude, Jack." The man spoke in a calm, reassuring voice with a slight Canadian twang. "I assumed the front door would be being watched."

He made his way past Jack into the kitchen and started to make a cup of tea. 


"I presume they've already been to see you, and the book's gone?" He asked casually. 


When no reply seemed forthcoming, he turned around and gestured at the money and papers strewn across the table.

"MmmHmm. Not to worry, my man. As luck would have it, you can still help me. You'd like to help me, right?”


Unbelievably, Jack found that he did want to help this man. He wanted to help him very much. He nodded slowly, and when the man smiled at him, he couldn't help but smile back. 


"Amazing!" 


The man laid a hand on Jack's back and guided him to the table. Taking a seat next to each other like old friends, they looked over the scribbled codes. 


"So, what I need from you, is what you've been doing already. Great job by the way."


Jack nodded, strangely proud. He wanted to impress the man with the converses.  


"I am going to need you, Jack, to remember one specific code for me. Do you think you can do that?"


Jack nodded immediately but then caught himself. With a dry tongue, he said,

"It..it's hard. I remember some of it, but then it gets foggy."


The man beamed at him. 


"I know, right! It's super hard to remember sometimes. Luckily I can help you with that. All I need you to do is remember the code which had ASJ in it. It would have been on the first couple of pages."


The man stretched out his hand to Jack, who instinctively began to reach for it, but then stopped himself once more. 


"Wh..what do the codes mean?" He asked slowly, his mind and words were moving like treacle.


The man opened his mouth, paused for half a beat, and then smiled. 


"They're departures, Jack." 


Of course! Departures. He didn't recognise the abbreviations as any of the airports or airlines around Canada or the US. They must be foreign, he decided. 


The man beckoned Jack with his outstretched hand, who happily obliged this time. As soon as their fingers touched, Jack felt calmness flood through him.

It was easy to remember without so many distracting thoughts flitting around.


"ASJ, Jack. What was the rest of the code?" The man prompted. 


Jack thought, and the code was simply there, in his mind's eye.


"220121ASJ" Jack spoke it out like it was written on the page in front of him.


"Super. Right, I've got to be going. Thanks for your help, Jack." With that, the man broke contact, and the same syrupy fog crept back over him. When Jack looked up, the man was standing by the window.


"Take care of yourself, bud. Word of advice: I'd do my best to forget all this if I were you. I hope you make it to Hawaii. I hear it's lovely this time of year."

And with that, he raised the window, dropped the six feet to street level, and was gone. 

Three days later, Jack was packing his bags, ready for his vacation. It was turning into a lovely day, and he was humming to himself while the morning news played in the background.

He stopped humming to pay attention as the reporter moved to the next story.


"...was flying between Vancouver and Mexico City when catastrophic engine failure caused the aeroplane to crash. Of a hundred and twenty-two passengers and crew, all have been confirmed dead, save one. The body of Ms Alice Sophie James of Vancouver has not been recovered, and while officials say…"

Alice Sophie James. Why was that familiar? Jack shrugged and continued packing. A few seconds later, his Tommy Bahama shirt fell from limp fingers.

Pain lanced through his head as half-remembered memories started poking their way through his subconscious.

Heart beating fast, he ran to his desk and fumbled with pen and paper. Scrunching his eyes shut tight, he thought as hard as he could and wrote. He opened his eyes.

He had written “220121ASJ”.

Going pale, he reached into his pocket for his phone and checked the home screen. Jack shook his head in disbelief.

Another painful memory spasmed through his head and he groaned as he stumbled to his desk.

Yanking open the drawer where he had stashed the business card, he stopped breathing altogether. The card was gone.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he stretched his hand forward to pick up a single white feather, edged in gold.

Stunned, Jack dropped the feather and slumped into his desk chair.

Exhaling shakily, he picked up a pen and tried to remember. JWO12…