THE COURT DATE

The light aircraft jolted in mid-air as it lowered its wheels, preparing to land. Jane wiped down the tiny window with the back of her right hand, and flinched as the cold glass pressed against her skin. The moon shone bright against the dark blue sky, illuminating the ocean below.

A lighthouse beam made its rotation, flashing light across the waves as they crashed against the steep, rocky cliffs. She rubbed her wrists together; how they ached from the cold metal of her handcuffs and the tension of resisting them.

Her fiddling attracted the attention of her guard, a giant in a black suit seated across from her, who had one eye on his comic book and one eye on her. The lights flickered as the aircraft bounced on the runway.

Back on Australian soil, there is no way out of this.

Jane leant toward her security detail. “Which one should I wear tomorrow? My black suit or my blue suit?”

“Huh?” he said, screwing up his face as if he couldn’t hear her.

“To court in the morning. Black or blue?”

“How ‘bout you just shut it”.

Probably shouldn’t have done that. It will only complicate the escape plan. Jane was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to make her court date in the morning, but it seemed silly to waste the hours of silence that had somehow produced the effect of acquiescence.
. …………………………………………….

Jack sat on a rock in the early morning light, about a kilometre above the weathered cottage where his wife was being held by Government officials. They were looking for him too. He had flown back to Australia only hours ago, right after he heard the Government were extraditing Jane from Italy. With his new beard and reading glasses, it had been easy to evade the local police in Florence.

The early light shone on the sluggish water of the lake which surrounded the cottage. Jack watched a young man in civilian clothes walk out the back of the cottage toward an SUV. John started to run down the ridge towards the cottage.
………………………………………………

Jane awoke to the sound of gunfire in the next room.

“Jack! How did you find me?” she squealed, as her husband burst into her room. She could switch effortlessly to the fake persona she used when they met one year ago in Verona.

“I was tipped off”, he lied.

“Really?” she relied. He’s lying.

“Yes”, he said, “we’ll be okay now”. I wish she’d stop using that annoying accent.

They ran out the door together; happy to see each other, but unsure what would happen next.

© 2010 Elizabeth Neil All Rights Reserved