Prologue
The circular steel barrel of a Glock nine-millimeter pushed roughly against Sydney’s left temple. The gun was searing her skin, still warm from the last bullet fired. One large, tan, muscular arm wrapped around her neck, threatening to snuff out her last few breaths.
I should have seen this coming, she thought. I should have known that if I agreed to go along with this ridiculous plan, something terrible would happen and I’d end up dead.
A series of images from her life began to scroll across her brain, like the snapshots from her Instagram feed. She in pigtails blowing out the candles for her sixth birthday. The fabulous pink satin dress that peeked out from her graduation gown, bright enough to match to her beaming smile. A picture of her at a café in Paris posing with a freshly baked chocolate croissant and a steaming cappuccino. She could see the images, but all she could think about were the choices she didn’t make and the people she neglected.
If she survived this moment, gun pressed against her temple, maybe she would start spending more time with her head in the real world, where life was messy and not one picture-perfect square after another. That was her mistake: projecting the perfect life made her believe she had the perfect life, but she didn’t. Had she tapped the Do Not Disturb button every once in a while, maybe she would have sensed the lies that had begun to weave their way into the real world around her. She could have fallen in love with someone different, someone who led a simple, boring life, like an accountant or a mechanic. But who was she kidding? Love doesn’t work that way.
Although there was shouting next to her ear, the voices sounded far away. All Sydney could hear was the blood thumping through her head and the whoosh-whoosh of her heart beating. The large tropical bushes that lined the walkway reached up toward the sky and bent down to form a canopy over the four of them, giving them respite from the burning Jamaican sun. She was not alone, but that didn’t make the situation any better.
She could still hear the soft call of the ocean behind her but all she could see were palm leaves and the crushed gravel pathway beneath her. Sweat was pouring down her face, neck, and back, soaking the pale blue chiffon dress she had just posted herself wearing on social media a few hours ago.
If only my followers could see me now, Sydney thought.
She heard the click of the pistol’s slide, chambering a round. Sydney didn’t believe in bad luck, but this situation might surely change her mind. Why me? she thought as the world started to blur around her like a watercolor painting. She began to taste the tangy bit of blood forming at the back of her mouth. He was holding on too tightly. If only she could wake up from this nightmare and be somewhere else. Like when she woke up at the airport.
That was the beginning.
One
Sydney
Sydney Evans had never been one for prescription medication. She rarely had headaches and managed to evade the flu virus year after year. In her early twenties she had her wisdom teeth pulled. Her dentist at the time had insisted on a prescription pain medication, which she took dutifully. It didn’t agree with her. She fainted while trying to make the trip from the bathroom to the bed, woken only by the feeling of her cat Marlie’s delicate tongue licking her face. That was the end of Sydney and little pills.
But lately, as the headaches became more frequent and the anxiety more intense, she realized she needed help to keep up with her life. Especially today, as she boarded a plane for the first time in six months. It seemed logical that she take a little something to help her relax. Well, she wanted more than to just relax. Perhaps knocked out was a better term. Plane rides had gone from a source of pleasure to a source of pain.
She had never taken Ambien before, though many friends had recommended it to her during the endless insomnia she experienced after Jack died. She had been able to squeeze in a last-minute appointment with Dr. Salinger, her general practitioner, to plead her case. He sat across from her in his drab ten-by-ten-foot exam room and quietly listened to her explain why she needed the drug. After a few minutes, he held up one of his long, clean hands and motioned for her to stop talking. He was happy to provide her with the prescription, but it came with a stern warning. He said there were a few serious possible side effects, including blackouts and amnesia. She had quickly brushed him off. “I have a few memories I’d like to forget,” she joked. Dr. Salinger remained stoic in his response: “This is not something to be taken likely, Mrs. Evans.”
As the passengers of the plane buzzed around her, Sydney reached down and pulled her vintage Louis Vuitton fringed crossover bag out from under her seat. She quickly unzipped the top and thrust her hand down into the bag, which was jammed full of her must-have travel supplies. She made a mental note to dump out the contents when she arrived at the hotel and do a snappy little post about what she had traveled with.
After about thirty seconds of rummaging around, she pulled out a small white pill bottle. She fumbled with the bottle cap, squeezed it open, and dropped a small pink pill into the palm of her hand. She paused and stared at her left hand. She could still see the tan line circling her ring finger, but there was no longer a ring there. Even though she had only been married for a short time, the lack of a wedding ring felt wrong to her. As if something was constantly missing from her hand. It was the first time she had ventured out sans wedding ring. Even though she had a variety of thin gold and silver bands sparkling on her other fingers, she still missed that ring the most.
Sydney sighed. It’s time to move on. She pulled out a bottle of FIJI water and one gulp later, the little magic pill slid down her throat. Surely this would make her plane ride a breeze. At least she could hope.
Around her, passengers were settling in as the plane rumbled forward on the tarmac. A dad with his towheaded daughters fumbled through his backpack to retrieve their iPads. “Daddy we want a show!” they cried over and over again. Sydney thought about how adorable they were, how she would love to have a few children herself one day.
She had grabbed an aisle seat, the large plane seating three on each side of the central walkway. Just to her left was a young couple, practically beaming with the newlywed glow. From what she could tell, they appeared to be maybe in their midtwenties. He had thick tortoise-shell glasses a hipster would wear and a hard part in his hair. She had shoulder-length, glossy black hair with purple highlights. They were casually dressed in hoodies, their backpacks stashed underneath the seat back in front of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched them flip through their wedding photos. Sydney felt a pang of sorrow mixed with envy.
She shifted her gaze to the guy in front of her, who swiped through the movie options on his television monitor. He seemed listless and unamused. Here was someone she could relate to. She had spent many nights over the last few months scrolling through her television guide. If she could lock onto a binge-worthy show, she’d have a few hours to escape from reality. Everywhere she looked there seemed to be a reminder of what her life could have been, what it is now, and what it wasn’t.
Sydney strapped on her noise-canceling headset and tuned in to her meditation app. Another suggestion from a friend: guided meditation. As sounds of the ocean mixed with flutes and wind chimes streamed into her ear drums, she let herself think about the upcoming few days.