**The Journey Home**
Edward fastened his seatbelt and absently adjusted the recliner. He flew oftentoo often, if he were honest. Once a month, sometimes more: conferences, meetings, brief business trips that left his head spinning as much as cheap whiskey. This time, it had all been especially routine: two days of negotiations, signatures, a dinner with partnersthen straight back to London.
The only difference was the destination. The plane wasnt bound for Germany or Edinburgh, but for a small town in the south where he had been born and from which he had fled twenty years before. Hed been back only twice sinceonce for his fathers funeral, then again for his mothers grave. Both times, hed been desperate to return, back to the hum of city traffic, to his projects, to a life where there was no time to think.
He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes. Yesterday, he and his colleagues had sat in a pub, arguing over some presentation. Someone had gotten drunk and started strumming Greensleeves on the guitar. Absurdly, it was that melody that stuck in Edwards head now, threading softly beneath the drone of the engines. He almost smiled.
Still or sparkling, sir? asked the stewardess, bending toward him with a practiced, rehearsed smile.
Still, please.
She handed him a plastic cup, and he nodded. The water was warm, as if left in the sun. But he was thirsty.
The man in the seat beside him muttered something, flipping through a magazine.
Prices are mad these days, eh? he said, glancing up.
Always have been, Edward replied. Theyre selling watches here for the price of a flat.
Both chuckled, and for a moment, it felt easy, almost familiar.
The plane flew smoothly, barely swaying. Somewhere ahead, a baby cried, but its mother hushed it quickly. Someone clicked the overhead light on and off, chasing the glow from the bulb. A girl across the aisle giggled at something on her phonethe screens white light made her look younger than she was.
Edward turned to the window. He half-expected to see the dim glow of a village below, a stretch of motorway, the flicker of a star. But beyond the glass lay only a dense, unbroken blacknessso thick it seemed like matte film pressed against the pane.
Dark out there, isnt it? the man beside him said, peering over his shoulder. Black as pitch.
Edward shrugged. Well it is night.
Yet something uneasy stirred in his chest. This wasnt night. Night breathed. This was emptiness.
He checked his phone out of habit. The screen flashedno signal.
Of course. The plane. What had he expected? He always forgot. Still, the reflex remained: reaching for the screen, hoping for a message from his son. *At least send a smiley,* he thought, locking the phone with a wry smirk.
No signal for you either? his neighbor asked.
None, Edward confirmed. Shouldnt expect it up here.
Right, the man said, returning to his magazine, fingers tracing the glossy ads for overpriced coats as if feeling the fabric.
The plane dipped slightly, a gentle bump. Edward told himself it was just turbulence. But the water in his cup trembled, ripples spreading too evenly, as if tapped by an invisible finger.
From the row behind, a womans voice: Youre sure theyll meet us?
Of course, another replied. They said theyd be waiting right outside.
The word *waiting* lodged in Edwards mind. He pressed his forehead to the window again. Still nothing. No glimmer, no thread of light. Just black fabric stretched taut around the plane.
He thought of his motherthe one who had lain in the old churchyard for over a decade. He remembered standing at her grave in his black overcoat, the strangeness of staring at dirt while her laughter still echoed in his memory. Now, staring into the void, he almost heard her voiceEddieand flinched as if shocked.
You all right? his neighbor asked.
Edward blinked. Just remembered something.
Ah, the man said. Well, best not to think about turbulence.
Edward tried to read, but the words slipped away. Lines blurred; letters stuck together. He caught himself staring not at the page but at the dark glass beside him. Blackness. Normal, surely. What else should there be?
His neighbor turned a page and huffed. Six thousand quid for a watch. Could buy a Mini for that.
Mmm, Edward agreed, smiling politely though it wasnt funny.
From across the aisle, a womans voice: She said, Wait for us by lunchtime.
Then another, higher: Mine said the sameWait for us by lunchtime.
A coincidence, surely. Just two passengers echoing the same phrase. Yet the word *wait* sent a chill through him, as if a door had opened and let in a draft. He stared at the window again.
The black glass reflected his facepale, tired. No clouds, no lights below. Just uniform darkness, so thick it seemed a hand stretched into it would vanish without trace.
Dark, isnt it? his neighbor remarked again. Black as pitch.
Night, Edward said. Same as always.
He said it aloud, but inside, the words rang differently: *Night is alive. This this is dead.*
He set the book aside, sipped the tepid water, and rolled his eyes. A full plane, yet it felt like sitting in a cellar.
The trolley creaked down the aisle. The stewardess leaned toward the next row. Tea or coffee?
A woman held up her cup. Tea, please. Lemon, if you have it.
Her companion added, Same heretea with lemon.
Both spoke with identical inflection, as if rehearsed. Edward wondered if hed misheard, but the girl in headphones giggled and mimicked in a singsong voice: *With lemon, with lemon*
His neighbor stopped flipping pages, frowning but saying nothing.
The plane shuddered slightly. The water in Edwards cup trembled again, ripples fine as lace. He touched the surfacefor a second, it stiffened like glass. Strange, but he brushed it off. Fatigue, that was all.
***
Captain Harris glanced from the instruments to the windshield. There was nothing. Even on moonless nights, clouds had gaps, a horizon, at least the haze of stars. This was a blank black screen, as if the cockpit had been rolled into a hangar and left unlit.
Maybe were in cloud, he said aloud, unconvincing even to himself.
At this altitude? The co-pilot looked up. With no turbulence? Radars blank too.
Electromagnetic storm, Harris suggested. Solar flares, plasma layers happens.
Should be interference, then.
There is. He tapped the live radio, where only silence hissed.
He knew he wasnt convincing. This wasnt like any malfunction hed seen in twenty years.
The co-pilot pressed his forehead to the side window. Could it be snowfields below? Maybe we just cant see them.
Snows never this dark, Harris said. Snow glows faintly. This is black.
They did what they always did in uncertainty: rechecked the instruments. Course steady. Altitude stable. Fuel normal. Engines perfect. Everything workedexcept the world outside.
If it were a storm, Id understand, the co-pilot murmured. Or the ocean. But this isnt night. Night breathes.
Breathes, Harris agreed, staring into the void.
He told himself theyd lost landmarks, that the beacon would guide them down. But the words wouldnt form. The emptiness outside seemed to stifle thought itself.
Finally, he reached for the mic. He couldnt bring himself to say *alls well*.
Ladies and gentlemen, he said stiffly, we are continuing our flight. Navigational systems are temporarily unavailable, but the aircraft is functioning normally. The crew has the situation under control.
He released the button.
Silence hissed in his headset. Outside, the black wall held them, as if waiting for the fuel to run dry.
***
The PA clicked off. A thick quiet followed, cellar-like. Then something crackednot in the instruments, but in the passengers.
The man beside Edward snapped his magazine shut, face taut. Under control? What does navigational systems unavailable mean? Are we lost?
No one answered, but heads turned.
Across the aisle, a girl in a jumper with rabbits tucked her phone away and began to crydry, quiet sobs. A stranger handed her a tissue, which she crumpled without using.
A man in a sharp suit jabbed the call button. When the stewardess came, he barked too loudly: Explain temporarily unavailable! I demand contact with the ground! My connecting flightmy entire schedule is ruined! His voice shook; Edward recognized
