Jeffrey nodded.
“Okay,” she said, giving the briefcase a push toward him.
Stunned but relieved, Jeffrey quickly took his belongings to a far comer of the waiting area and sat down. He picked up a discarded newspaper and hid behind it. If he hadn’t felt like a criminal when the jury handed down its verdict, he felt like one now.
As soon as his flight was called, Jeffrey pressed to get on. He couldn’t wait to get on the plane. Once he was on, he couldn’t wait to take his seat.
Jeffrey was in an aisle seat fairly close to the front of the plane. With his suitcase secured in the overhead compartment and his briefcase tucked under his feet, Jeffrey leaned back and closed his eyes. His heart was still racing but at least he could now try to relax. He had just about made it.
But it was difficult to calm down. Sitting there in that plane, the seriousness and irreversibility of what he was about to do finally began to sink in. So far, he hadn’t broken any law. But as soon as the plane crossed from Massachusetts into another state, he would have. And there would be no turning back.
Jeffrey checked his watch. He began to perspire. It was one twenty-seven.
Only three minutes to go before the door would be sealed. Then takeoff. Was he doing the right thing? For the first time since he’d come to this decision that morning, Jeffrey felt real doubt. The experience of a lifetime argued against it. He’d always followed the law and respected authority.
Jeffrey began to shake all over. He’d never experienced such agonizing indecision and confusion. He looked at his watch again. It was twenty-nine after the hour. The cabin attendants were busy slamming all the overhead compartments, and the crashing noise threatened to drive him mad. The door to the cockpit was closed with a resounding click. A gate agent came onto the plane and gave a final manifest. All the passengers were in their seats. In a way he was ending the life he had always known, as surely as if he’d released the stopcock the night before.
He wondered how running away would affect his appeal. Wouldn’t it make him appear the guiltier? And if be was ever brought to justice, would he have to serve extra time for fleeing? Just what did he plan to do in South
America? He didn’t even speak Spanish or Portuguese. In a flash, the full horror of his action hit home. He just couldn’t go through with it.
“Waitf” Jeffrey shouted as he heard the sounds of the plane’s
door closing. All eyes turned on him. “Wait! I have to get off!” He undid the seat belt, then tried to pull his briefcase from under the seat. It opened and some of the contents, including a stack of hundred-dollar bills, fell out. Hastily, he jammed the things back inside, then got his suitcase from the overhead compartment. No one spoke. Everyone was watching Jeffrey’s panic with stunned curiosity.
Jeffrey rushed forward and confronted the cabin attendant. “I have to get off!” he repeated. Perspiration was running down his forehead, blurring his vision. He looked crazed. “I’m a doctor,” he added, as if to explain. “It’s an emergency.”
“Okay, okay,” the cabin attendant said calmly. She pounded on the door, then made a gesture through the window at the gate agent who was still standing on the jetway on the other side. The door was opened, too slowly for Jeffrey’s taste.
As soon as the passage was clear, Jeffrey rushed from the plane. Luckily, no one confronted him to ask for his reasons for deplaning. He ran up the jetway. The door to the terminal was closed, but it was unlocked. He started across the boarding area, but he didn’t get far. The gate agent called him over to the boarding podium.
“Your name, please?” he asked with no expression.
Jeffrey hesitated. He hated to say. He didn’t want to have to explain himself to the authorities.
“I can’t give you your ticket back unless you give me your name,” the agent said, slightly irritated.
Jeffrey relented, and the gate agent returned his ticket. Pushing it hastily into his pocket, he then walked past the security check and went into the men’s room. He had to calm down. He was a nervous wreck. He put down his hand luggage and leaned on the edge of the sink. He hated himself for vacillating, first with suicide, now with fleeing. In both cases