Read Online Fasten Your Seatbelts: A Flight Attendant's Adventures 36,000 Feet and Below by Christine Churchill - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Churchill
Ads: Link
or he’s fired,” she said. A wave of uncertainty hit me.
Maybe he hadn’t disappeared; maybe it was something far worse
. About three weeks prior to this, Craig told me he was going to leave the company he was working for and take them for at least a thousand dollars before he left. I wasn’t sure of his plans or if he indeed had done so.
I felt compelled to drive to the apartment. On the way there, I considered two possibilities: his Bronco is not parked in thelot indicating he has probably disappeared or if his Bronco is there, he may have done the unthinkable and killed himself.
Turning the corner, I saw the red Bronco. I slowly walked up to the apartment door noticing all of the windows were open. I knocked on the door, with no answer in return. “Craig, Craig, Are you in there?” I heard nothing. I knew in my heart that it was over.
I drove back to mom and dad’s house. I guess I wasn’t mentally prepared to enter the apartment yet. While driving home, everything seemed to be in slow motion. I can still hear what songs were playing on the radio. I can still tell you which stop sign I missed.
I called mom at work and said, “He is in there.”
“I will meet you there,” she said.
I called John. He said in disbelief, “I’m sure he’s okay, but I am coming with you.”
When John and I arrived, we went directly to the apartment manager’s office. I explained the situation to her. She called one of her employees and the four of us went to the apartment together.
We walked in tentatively. Nothing seemed to be out of place. The windows were open, so there wasn’t an odor.
Maybe I was wrong
. The door to his ‘secret’ room was closed. John was the first to open it. “Oh my God,” he said. “He is in there.” Craighad taken off all of his clothes then shot himself in the right-hand side of the head. He lay face down in a pool of blood.
We called the police. It took three hours for them to do their investigation. One of the police officers held something out in his hand. “Do you know what this is?” I shook my head no. He said it was a homemade hand grenade. “What would he be doing with that?” I told him that was the Craig I didn’t know. There was no note.
Mom arrived, and in silence we tearfully watched them carry Craig’s body off in a bag. My heart was full of mixed emotions. Part of me knew if he were living, I would never be free. But part of me mourned the person I once loved. The hardest thing I had to do was call his family. How do you tell a mother her son is no longer here? Stunned and devastated, she requested his body be flown to where he grew up. She also said she wanted me to come to the funeral. I never told his family the whole story.
The next day I went to the apartment to pick out his favorite suit for the funeral. It was a rainy and dreary day. I drove in a daze the whole way. While stopped at a light, I heard a tremendous crash behind me. The next thing I knew, my head slammed against the steering wheel. The change compartment spewed coins everywhere.
This can’t be happening
. I pulled over.
Two cars behind me were badly mangled. The driver, who rear-ended my car, apologized and gave me his insurance card.The back end of the car was damaged, but I was too distraught to mess with it. I never did call his insurance company. My mom was driving a mile behind me. She hoped the ruckus ahead did not involve me, but unfortunately it did. Once the police report was filled out, I drove off and headed for the apartment.
I opened the apartment door and we about gagged. Because of the weather conditions outside, the windows were now closed. The putrefying smell was worse than any dead animal. My mom and I slowly opened the door where Craig shot himself. The blood soaked carpet had an imprint where his head had lain. I grabbed his favorite suit, tie, and shoes.
I flew to his childhood home for his funeral. I was standing over Craig in the casket with his brother. I pointed
Maybe he hadn’t disappeared; maybe it was something far worse
. About three weeks prior to this, Craig told me he was going to leave the company he was working for and take them for at least a thousand dollars before he left. I wasn’t sure of his plans or if he indeed had done so.
I felt compelled to drive to the apartment. On the way there, I considered two possibilities: his Bronco is not parked in thelot indicating he has probably disappeared or if his Bronco is there, he may have done the unthinkable and killed himself.
Turning the corner, I saw the red Bronco. I slowly walked up to the apartment door noticing all of the windows were open. I knocked on the door, with no answer in return. “Craig, Craig, Are you in there?” I heard nothing. I knew in my heart that it was over.
I drove back to mom and dad’s house. I guess I wasn’t mentally prepared to enter the apartment yet. While driving home, everything seemed to be in slow motion. I can still hear what songs were playing on the radio. I can still tell you which stop sign I missed.
I called mom at work and said, “He is in there.”
“I will meet you there,” she said.
I called John. He said in disbelief, “I’m sure he’s okay, but I am coming with you.”
When John and I arrived, we went directly to the apartment manager’s office. I explained the situation to her. She called one of her employees and the four of us went to the apartment together.
We walked in tentatively. Nothing seemed to be out of place. The windows were open, so there wasn’t an odor.
Maybe I was wrong
. The door to his ‘secret’ room was closed. John was the first to open it. “Oh my God,” he said. “He is in there.” Craighad taken off all of his clothes then shot himself in the right-hand side of the head. He lay face down in a pool of blood.
We called the police. It took three hours for them to do their investigation. One of the police officers held something out in his hand. “Do you know what this is?” I shook my head no. He said it was a homemade hand grenade. “What would he be doing with that?” I told him that was the Craig I didn’t know. There was no note.
Mom arrived, and in silence we tearfully watched them carry Craig’s body off in a bag. My heart was full of mixed emotions. Part of me knew if he were living, I would never be free. But part of me mourned the person I once loved. The hardest thing I had to do was call his family. How do you tell a mother her son is no longer here? Stunned and devastated, she requested his body be flown to where he grew up. She also said she wanted me to come to the funeral. I never told his family the whole story.
The next day I went to the apartment to pick out his favorite suit for the funeral. It was a rainy and dreary day. I drove in a daze the whole way. While stopped at a light, I heard a tremendous crash behind me. The next thing I knew, my head slammed against the steering wheel. The change compartment spewed coins everywhere.
This can’t be happening
. I pulled over.
Two cars behind me were badly mangled. The driver, who rear-ended my car, apologized and gave me his insurance card.The back end of the car was damaged, but I was too distraught to mess with it. I never did call his insurance company. My mom was driving a mile behind me. She hoped the ruckus ahead did not involve me, but unfortunately it did. Once the police report was filled out, I drove off and headed for the apartment.
I opened the apartment door and we about gagged. Because of the weather conditions outside, the windows were now closed. The putrefying smell was worse than any dead animal. My mom and I slowly opened the door where Craig shot himself. The blood soaked carpet had an imprint where his head had lain. I grabbed his favorite suit, tie, and shoes.
I flew to his childhood home for his funeral. I was standing over Craig in the casket with his brother. I pointed
Similar Books
