Free SHUDDERVILLE FIVE by Mia Zabrisky Page A

yet. It pissed him off, but he said nothing. They had declared a truce.
    Her hand snaked toward him in the dark. She had made herself up with Cleopatra-like indulgence, and the hieroglyphics of her jewelry confused him. “Let’s start over, Will. Okay?”
    “A fresh start?”
    “Yeah. Okay?”
    “Yeah, we could do that.” He squeezed her hand and tried not to hate her too much. He tried to believe her. They’d been arguing for days about his so-called jealous nature, and it had driven him to the brink of apoplexy. He didn’t want to fight anymore.
    It was overcast and gray outside. They were halfway across the country, heading for a week of horseback-riding and wine-tasting with the in-laws. Already he missed the lab. He found his work to be so stimulating that he often forgot what time it was and worked until midnight. No wonder his marriage was falling apart. How was he supposed to fix this?
    He loosened his tie, took off his reading glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. The man seated next to them in the aisle seat had a damp, nibbling, rodent-like face. He smiled indulgently at them, which only irritated Will. Some people liked to chat during long flights, but Will was not one of those people.
    The flight attendant rolled by with the drink cart, and Charlotte sat up straight. “I’ll have a Coke,” she said, and the flight attendant popped the tab and started to pour it into a plastic cup. “Wait. I prefer Coke straight from the can, if you don’t mind.”
    “But you can taste the aluminum,” the flight attendant said.
    “Better than plastic, right?”
    The flight attendant shrugged and handed Charlotte her Coke in a can.
    “Thanks.”
    “You’re welcome. And what would you like, sir?” she asked Will.
    “Just a napkin.”
    “Okay. Here you go. And you, sir?”
    Charlotte glanced at her husband. “Just a napkin?”
    He took out his felt-tip pen and started scribbling something down.
    “Oh great,” Charlotte said. “Another brainstorm.”
    He didn’t want to lose the thought—it had come with remarkable clarity in a blinding flash of insight. You could fold time and space over like a loop of paper. He was terrified he wasn’t going to get it all down.
    “Will?” his wife whispered.
    “Shh,” he hissed.
    “I’m sorry, it’s just that…”
    “Shut up a second!”
    “Oh great. Just great.” She deflated beside him. “Shut up yourself.” She angrily plopped her wet can down on his drop tray, and some of her soda slopped out of the can and drenched the flimsy napkin he’d been writing his equations on.
    “… the hell, Charlotte?” he shouted. “What are you doing?”
    “Sorry,” she whispered fiercely, her face flushing crimson.
    “For chrissakes!” He tried to piece the drenched napkin together but it was too late. It was ruined. He could feel the revelation, the insight, slipping away—and he couldn’t let that happen. “Stewardess!” he barked, then turned toward his wife and said, “Do you have to have my complete, undivided attention every freaking second of every freaking day?”
    “Is everything okay?” the flight attendant asked, leaning over them.
    “No,” Will said harshly. “I need another napkin.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Another napkin. This one’s all wet.”
    “I’m so sorry,” Charlotte whispered.
    The engine stalled and the plane began to shake.
    “Another napkin, sir?”
    “Yes. Now. Quick. Give me some napkins. Just grab a handful.”
    “But…”
    “Now!” he shouted.
    The flight attendant handed him a fistful of napkins and hurried away with the drink cart. She was probably going to report him to the pilot. He tried to collect his thoughts, but he was so angry, his mind went blank. All he pictured was a reddish blur.
    Now the plane was making an odd sound, like a strong wind billowing across a canvas tent— pucka pucka pucka . It was pitch dark outside the windows.
    “Fasten your seatbelts, put your trays in their upright