1 Negotiation

Chapter 1

My heart pulsates out of my chest as if trying to escape to the comfort of my lap.

I felt my brain pacing in the confines of my skull, my will to live and my fright of death interchanging control frantically.

Fear; anxiety, and impulse, all pushing me towards the same answer. "Fight!". But I couldn't.

There had to be room for reason-

I noticed my assailant's dark baggy eyes as he murmured to himself, trying my best to divert my attention from the blanket covering the gun pointed at my side. It's hard not to notice its nudity, no attachments, not even a suppressor, just a raw killing machine. Makes me think it was either an impulse purchase or this man is suicidal, because the first round he lets off is obvious to alert the crew on board.

Honestly, it wouldn't be surprising if it's the latter, he has the demeanor of someone that is mentally occupied and somehow drained all at once. Mr. Seth, I presume that's his name since that's what the stewardess called him, is a tall scrawny man, he has a stained white v-neck and a ragged grey fleece that's overflowing onto his seat, the foul smell from his clothes barely masked by the cologne he's wearing. I imagine he's in his late thirties, although his frail physique could be that of an unhealthy younger person, either way, it's a loss; someone so young is going to waste his life.

"But what if I saved him?", a query arose from my selfish desire to survive and my slight care for another human being. On one hand, I could hold my tongue and hope that I am miraculously safe by the time we land, but on the other hand, is the idea that I could somehow talk him down from this foolish act, saving myself and everyone else. Normally I would have restrained my nerves and collected my thoughts in order to articulate an amazing plan that is sure to work, but unfortunately not knowing anything about him meant I couldn't entertain that thought for long.

Ironically he starts rattling his backpack which is pressed against the small window to his right, in all likelihood searching for the final piece needed to start his rampage.

Concurrently queuing me to advance.

While psyching myself up, I bring my eyelids closer in an attempt to regain focus and prepare for confrontation.

"You're not going to shoot me," I say in arrogant confidence, masking my anxiety and slightly lifting my feet on their heels to hide their shiver.

It's as if he didn't even hear me, so I decide to double down.

"Considering the fact that you haven't shot me yet, how tired you look, and the poor weapon choice, you're here for someone, so shooting me would just alert them and then-" I stumble as he turns with a frightening stare, nevertheless I try to catch my fleeting train of thought, "Instead of killing a nobody like me, you can let me help you, that way we all get out of here the way we boarded" I pause for a second in disbelief of the words I mouthed, furthermore continuing the marathon I whisper, "Why are you doing this?" with a relaxation of my body as if meeting an old acquaintance and a slight tilt of the head to match.

Silence.

I quickly spiral into doubt, wondering if all I did was to provoke him more. The suspense in these seconds is horrifying. I swallowed with difficulty, pondering how long I could keep the facade of confidence.

Until.

He parted his lips as if about to speak, his face only an arm away from mine, I refrained from flinching as the smell of cigarettes and booze overwhelmed my senses. He let his lips touch again before a chilling chuckle escaped them.

"Why are you lau-", my sentence came to a break as I saw his left hand leave his backpack empty, to find its way into the pocket of the seat in front of him. As far as I knew, the only things in there were the headphones, blanket, and complimentary snacks provided by the flight, so why reach in there? A moment later he reveals his hand armed with a custom metal butter knife engraved with the initials "L x J", emerging from his firm grip were gold strings embedded into the structure of the handle that swam all the way to the dull edge. He modifies his form as if to stab someone behind him, and in one swift motion his arm rises as high as the top of the seat and comes down as fast into his thigh, my heart follows the same dynamic.

Blood seeps into his jeans, the hole in the curtain beside his shoulder allowing red sunset to reflect off the pristine part of the knife, and just like Arthur removed Excalibur to claim his kingship, he removed the knife and claimed my silence.

I wish that was enough for him, he still felt he needed to make sure I knew my place. Mr. Seth brought his face about a foot away from mine as I turned straight ahead, my eyes drawing the balding hill that's erecting from the top of the seat in front of me, giving him my right ear as if I was trying to sacrifice it. He lets go of the bloody knife and lands his coarse hand on the buzzed back of my head, sending shivers down my spine. As though acting on its own cognizance, the left hand drives my head closer to his mouth and he begins to whisper in a deep voice, prickling my ear with every word, "Any person I kill is going to be in your hands".