Matthew Spencer woke with a start, his blocky face pressed up against the hard plastic shade of the airplane window. His sight was bleary and his hearing was muffled, but the cramps that needled his legs and spiked his back confirmed the bad news. He was still onboard Flight 54 from L.A. to Chicago, and God only knew how much time was left.

A man of powerful build and intense focus, he shifted self-consciously, careful not to disturb the fastidiously pressed lines of his clothing. He was trapped within the cramped confines of the economy class seat, wishing he’d reserved earlier so he could have managed a business class ticket. He would still be petrified, but at least he would be able to stretch out while he worked through his fear.

Damn whatever it was that just woke him. He’d quaffed three Dramamine and four scotches before he’d even stepped foot on the plane; whatever had yanked him from slumber had shoved him hard.

Squinting down at his Rolex, he tried briefly to calculate the time left onboard. For all the stress the previous day’s meeting had caused him, he wished like hell he was far away from this or any other plane and back in the thick of it — selling those stubborn bastards at Nike on a campaign that would last well into 2010. After all, they had bought into it, and he wasn’t too humble to admit he’d been a huge part of that victory. Let’s face it; he thought to himself — he was probably the reason.

Slowly and uncertainly, he pulled his window shade up. When he’d shoved it down last, they’d been taxiing down the runway at LAX, and sunlight was blasting across hot tarmac. Now, there was nothing in sight but an endless chasm of black.

Prying his lower legs from beneath the seat in front of him, he sighed loudly, and sucked in the regurgitated mash of rancid breath and broken wind of more than 200 passengers. His tongue tasted like something left moistly rotting on the lavatory floor.

Matthew’s narrowed auburn eyes, so practiced at zoning in on a review board’s vulnerability and exploiting it, peered over the seats in front of him. Relegated to coach, dozens of passengers’ heads seemed to mock him, dark and immobile lumps that were tilted back in what Matthew imagined were lengthy and refreshing stretches of sleep.

While the main cabin bulbs were off, reading lights were visible above at least three of the plane’s nocturnal travelers. Bitterness consumed him. He was positive that the few others awake were finally finding the time to read a novel, peruse a favorite magazine, or catch up on the day’s events with a newspaper or two. God knows they weren’t watching anything. On a four-hour flight, the only screens visible were deadened monitors suspended precariously from the ceiling like remnants from a long lost age. To Matthew, they looked as if they’d been constructed at about the same time propellers were invented — making a rust-choked engine seem that much more plausible.

Reaching into the seat pocket in front of him, he unearthed the present his daughter had given him before he’d left Chicago almost four days ago. “Thith will take your mind off the flight, Dad!” she’d blurted, shoving it into his carry-on bag.

He’d managed a smile, but groaned inwardly. His daughter understood his phobia at seven, and to add insult to injury, she pointed it out with her damned lisp. Edginess cut open the worry line between his brows. If only his wife Andrea would pay a little more attention to the damn kid’s diction. It was embarrassing to think he made his living with words, coaxing people into purchasing what they didn’t even need, and his only kid rarely got a sentence out without sounding like a drunk spluttering through a split lip.

He stared at the jacket of the book for a moment: World’s Stupidest Criminals. Three mug shots and cartoon print zigzagging across the front cover promised tales of wacky shenanigans within; failed burglars getting caught with their pants down in ridiculous what could they have been thinking? circumstances. Matthew thought a better title of the book would have been For World’s Stupidest Readers, but seeing his daughter was only seven, he figured perhaps he could cut her some slack.

Not much, but some.

He ran his hands distractedly through the dyed blond highlights of his hair, opened the book, then shoved it back into the seat pocket. He began flipping through the flight’s complimentary newspaper instead, finding it perfectly creased and folded in its plastic pouch. A moment later, his fingers were drumming his armrests.

The young stewardess who gave him the newspaper was the distraction he needed. One look at those voluptuous curves invited intense speculation on whether the swoop of the red mane that fell across her back matched the trim runway he was sure she sported down below. She’d last been seen sashaying towards the rear of the plane carrying a magazine and wearing a smirk. The next time he saw her, he planned on clarifying whether she favored a thong or a G-string.

And speaking of ass, even this trip’s empty seat beside him was a curse only posing as a blessing. Any number of beautiful women could have easily provided more eye candy, but instead it sat vacant; too small to stretch out on, but large enough to be a nagging reminder of what he didn’t have.

Membership in the mile-high club was something his wife had suggested before one flight together several years ago. What a joke, Matthew thought. While the plane was up, there was no way he was getting it up. Not that Andrea had provided him with much reason to get it up on the ground these days either. And on any recent flights, forget it. The most interaction they managed was giving each other the heads up when the drink cart was spotted.

Come to think of it, where was that drink cart?

The plane lurched to one side, shuddering fitfully. “Calm down,” Matthew muttered, closing his eyes. The sounds of the engine suddenly seemed distant, as his ears clogged with a steady and relentless hammering.

Was that his heart? Was that possible?

Yes, it was, and so was the pain that now stabbed out from the inside of his chest, as if tearing a scorching hole through his flesh. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, and his teeth ground up against one another. A twinge he’d felt before he boarded the plane was now a thousand times as powerful, and there was no sign of a Dramamine capsule or Scotch shot to douse the flames.

The pain consumed everything, blazing through his veins and boiling his blood. Hot sparks exploded across his closed eyelids, and numbness sleeved his arms. He’d never known anything like this, and now it was all that existed.

“Stop,” he whispered hoarsely through clamped lips. And then — as suddenly as it had arrived — it did, leaving nothing but a cold sweat on his brow and a tremble in his limbs.

“Thank fucking God,” he whispered.

As Matthew slowly opened his eyes, a young man of slight stature slipped into the seat beside him. “Sorry,” the man said, glancing over timidly as he buckled up.

Although his new neighbor sounded sincere, Matthew’s pain was forgotten, and his indignation flared like fireworks.

“The people sitting next to me down the aisle have a baby,” the man continued, his face averted under a thick snarl of dark bangs. “I think they need the room more than I do.” His narrow shoulders shrugged, and he yanked nervously at the arms of his black sweater with spindly fingers.

The hull of the plane quaked as it slammed through a screaming wind. Matthew cast a menacing glare at the man, and at his left elbow that rested on their shared armrest. Not only had space been lost, but — even worse — here was someone who could witness Matthew’s fear firsthand, including the sweat springing from his forehead with each bump, or a possible scramble for the vomit bag. It was all about self-respect, Matthew thought. As long as someone was looking, it wasn’t any more dignified to blow chunks at thirty-five thousand feet than it was at six.

Taking a napkin from his pocket, he dabbed at the moisture on his face and began to take inventory of his neighbour. The young man was good-looking in that sort of boyish, unthreatening way that Matthew figured got the ladies wet where it mattered. And, just like Matthew, he didn’t appear he’d be sleeping anytime soon. His twenty-something face was set as if in white granite, and his back was ruler-straight.

Matthew noted the young man’s fine hands clenched over the fastened seatbelt in the lap of his black trousers. The only part of him that moved was one thumb, circling constantly across the cold surface of the buckle. In short, the man looked damn uncomfortable.

Matthew smiled inwardly, and began looking around for a casual way to dispose of the napkin gripped in his clammy fist. He hated shoving it in his pants, yet tucking it back into the seat pocket in front of him seemed cloddish and weak. Christ, he thought. Who am I trying to impress? He pulled open the seat pocket, and a shaky voice stopped his hand in mid air.

“Let me take that for you.”

Before Matthew could answer, the stranger plucked the napkin from his palm. Stepping up beside them, the stewardess’s listless stare fell on the rubbish, and she took it wordlessly. There you are, Matthew thought, and his eyes zoned in on her chest, noting the delicious weight that strained against the navy fabric of her uniform.

“Anything else, sir?”

“Scotch for me, and...?” The stranger turned to Matthew with a tired smile and eyes shot through with countless red threads. Taking in the grayish purple blotches under them, Matthew realized this guy wasn’t quite the pretty boy he initially appeared, or at least, not the pretty boy on a good day.

“That’s my drink,” replied Matthew, and broke out in a grin that felt surprisingly natural. Use it before you lose it, he thought, and turned the smile on the stewardess. “Perhaps you’d like to join us with a third?” he asked, revealing teeth that looked washed in white paint.

Her green eyes were unreadable under thick blonde lashes. “Not while I’m working.”

Before he could answer, she was making her way back down the aisle. As Matthew watched, she looked back over her shoulder. Yet there was no flirtation there, just thinly veiled contempt.

A tease, Matthew thought to himself. Or a dyke. Turning to his neighbour, he offered what he hoped was a relatively dry hand. It was immediately held in a cool grip that was firm without being competitive. “Matthew Spencer,” he heard himself say automatically.

“David,” replied the young man softly. “You’re not a good flier either, I take it?”

“Guilty,” Matthew replied. His gut somersaulted slowly with the plane’s next dip. “And, go figure, we’re two of the only people actually awake in this hell.”

David leaned back, speaking unsteadily through full, feminine lips. “It makes you wonder just what we did to deserve this, doesn’t it?”

The stewardess was at their side again, smeared in shadows from tiny light bulbs, and handing over two plastic cups half full of scotch and ice. David took his gingerly, as if handling a bomb that could detonate at any moment.

As Matthew reached for his, the stewardess’s fingers released, and the cup plummeted. His hand grabbed and caught, but squeezed too hard. A splash of cold liquid sprung over the cup’s lip and onto his lap, freezing his balls instantly.

“God-damn!” he gasped, staring up in astonishment. But the stewardess was already lost in shadows.

“You okay?” David asked.

“Peachy.” He popped his seat tray free, tossing back the remaining gulp of scotch at the same time. He immediately surmised that the Captain must have strained it through his boxers; not only was it the worst scotch he’d ever tasted, but the usual blossom of warmth in his stomach was replaced by several jagged stings.

A ding rang out in the darkness, and with it the accompanying “fasten seatbelts” light glowing above every row in the plane. David sighed, checking his seatbelt for the tenth time in two minutes. “Why don’t they just leave that on?”

A counterfeit smile pulled Matthew’s mouth apart. “You don’t think it’s going to stop?”

David shook his head, staring at the glow of the seatbelt sign as if hypnotized by its simple, solid presence. His upper lip trembled noticeably. “For the rest of the way in, the forecast is awful.”

Matthew checked his watch again. In the back of his mind, he’d been trying desperately to calculate the hours, then the minutes, then the seconds home. It was impossible. With every rock, shudder and shake of the plane’s hull, he’d lose his place, and every number would scatter into oblivion.

There was a crackle of static, and then the Captain’s voice came over the intercom. Abruptly Matthew forgot all about the scotch in his lap or the neighbor at his side.

“Ladies and gentlemen...”

God, Matthew thought, straining forward. Was that a tremor in the captain’s voice?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the Captain repeated. “Sorry if I’ve woken you, but we must ask that you please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened. We’re going—”

As if on cue, wind shrieked across the jet’s wings. Matthew’s plastic cup jitterbugged to the edge of his tray, and another burst of static cut the Captain off in mid-sentence.

Matthew swung a wild-eyed glance at David. “What the hell did that mean?”

“It means I think we’re in for it.”

Matthew’s fingers tunneled into his armrests as he squinted into the inky darkness outside, then back at David, studying his face and gestures more closely — the skin drained almost completely of color; the fidgeting with his belt; the way his exhausted eyes couldn’t make contact with Matthew’s for more than a moment.

Yes sir, he thought; this guy’s at least as terrified of flying as I am. The revelation hammered home with a full-blown flash of delight. Reviled upon first glance, David was now the most important person in Matthew’s life. Still staring at him, Matthew managed a thin and weary grin.

“May as well chat it up to keep our minds off this, what do you say?”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Matthew pulled the plastic window shade back down. “I’ll just be happy to get myself out of here and home to the wife and the kid.” Even though he hated the weak sound of his voice, his openness brought with it a welcome feeling of release.

David considered Matthew with his fine, almost elfin features. “Kids?”

“A girl. She’s seven.”

David nodded as if he’d been expecting the answer. “It must be nice coming home to a family.”

“You’re single?”

David’s weary eyes grew wistful. “Yes.”

“Well you’re a young guy,” Matthew said. “I wouldn’t start feeling too—”

Suddenly the bottom dropped out, and the plane was plunging, choking off Matthew’s words. As his guts were tossed to his chest, an elderly woman let out a squawk of surprise. Once again there was the familiar ding, and the red headed stewardess was ricocheted down the aisle. As she rebounded past rows of passengers, there were several cries for help, but she never stopped.

Matthew pressed himself back against his chair as the plane slowly righted itself. David’s hands remained gripping his armrests, but his eyes returned to Matthew’s, latching onto them as if they were life preservers. “For one thing, I’m not as young as I look,” he continued as if nothing had ever happened. “And for another...” He paused, as if struggling for the right words. “From the very beginning I’ve wanted a family, and part of me is always jealous when I see just what people have.” He nodded at Matthew. “It just looks like you’ve got it all.”

Matthew marveled at the change in David’s features over a few minutes. Perhaps airsickness was partly to blame, but his initial look of subdued cool had crumpled into complete despondence.

A man who has everything? Matthew thought, and grimaced. Something was gnawing at his insides that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He opened his mouth to speak, and then thought better of it. No, he thought. No, he couldn’t da—

BANG! The huge sound reverberated through the cabin, like nothing he had heard before, a savage metallic punch that shook the tray tables and chairs, and dumped his cup onto the floor. The plane pitched right, its turbines whining, and luggage crashed across the bins above.

Static hissed, and again there was the sound of the Captain’s voice, buried beneath it. There was only one syllable this time, all authority lost amidst the uproar: “No!” And then, with a final crackling sputter, the announcement was over before it had begun.

Say it! Matthew thought, panicked. If he wasn’t going to say it now, he might never get another chance.

“I did it,” he muttered under his breath, his stomach muscles clenched down like steel turrets. “I’ve been doing it for ages.” He didn’t even note the plane realigning itself, quaking stubbornly as it straightened across the night sky.

“What?” David’s eyes stayed on Matthew, his brows knitting together in concentration.

“It’s all bullshit,” Matthew continued. “All of it. The marriage, the family, the wedding vows in front of the priest.” He leaned his head back, staring up at the empty eyes of the airplane vents. “What a joke.”

“Look, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to—”

“Screw it,” he said, louder now. The sound of the engines was rising to a wail. “We’re going down anyway.”

David stayed quiet. Whether it was due to patience or terror, Matthew didn’t know, and didn’t care. It meant he could finally unload out loud, and possibly come to terms with what he’d done. He took a deep breath, and spat the next sentence out in a rush. “I’ve been cheating on my wife for years.”

The plane was shaking hard, but David’s eyes stayed where they were; riveted on Matthew. Light reflected off a forehead that was no longer damp. The pronounced tremble in his upper lip vanished. “And you’re feeling penitent about what you’ve done.”

Penitent? Where the hell had that come from? Matthew took fresh stock of his neighbour, noting that every sign of tension had disappeared. In harsh contrast, the plane was heaving worse than ever, riding a rickety roller coaster over impossibly steep hills that threatened to shake the flesh from his face.

Suddenly, Matthew felt deceived.

“No, not penitent,” Matthew yelled, ears plugging up with cabin pressure. “Not penitent at all!” The acrid stench of fresh puke abruptly assaulted his nostrils from the row in front of him, and it was all he could do to keep from being sick himself. Instead, he vomited up rage. “What I feel bad about is getting married in the first fucking place!”

“How so?” David asked calmly.

Matthew couldn’t believe this; David’s abrupt change in disposition was infuriating. This wasn’t a man who was afraid of flying. Somehow, for some bizarre reason, it was all a charade. He was a liar. Betrayed, Matthew’s rage was peaking, and he couldn’t have held back if he had tried.

“How so? How so, you pompous asshole? How so means I wish I was able to tell my wife the truth about everything, just so I can stop sneaking around, and finally relax when I’m fucking around in her bed with another woman!”

David’s eyes were unblinking, his gaze and demeanor composed. “Are you done?”

The tone was judgmental, and Mathew’s temper was re-fuelled. “Are you looking for me to feel sorry about this?” he screamed.

The plane dipped and weaved sickeningly, and, even more sickeningly to Matthew, David’s face remained unreadable. “Come to think of it,” Matthew continued, relishing his tirade, “I feel sorry for myself if anyone. If anything, my family has held me back!”

David was now looking at Matthew with something he recognized instantly — pity. Pity should not be directed at him, Matthew thought indignantly. He was the one with the family and the money, and the best that life had to offer. The only thing the two of them shared was a fear of flying, and even that had turned out to be bullshit. He strained against the seatbelt, everything forgotten but the pale, self-righteous face in front of him. His neck flushed crimson, the cords in his throat ready to burst. Bile rose to the back of his tongue, and he tasted hot copper.

“You know you’re the liar,” Matthew blurted, stabbing the air with his forefinger. “At least I still have my self-respect.” Dropping his finger, he remained leaning forward, as if waiting for the first excuse to pounce, to grasp, and to tear apart something with his bare hands. Yet David barely moved, and the judgment in his glance — if it had even been there in the first place — was gone.

And that wasn’t all that had vanished. Only moments before, the plane had seemed stuck in a spin cycle. Now the engines were noiseless, and neither the slightest bump nor tremble rattled the hull. If they’d flown straight into a hurricane, they were now cruising through its massive eye that had nothing to throw at them but miles of cloudless sky.

How long has it been like this? Matthew wondered. How long have I been yelling, and what has everybody heard? He was surprised nobody had said anything. Were people too scared? Did he sound that aggressive? Yes, he must have. He was abruptly afraid of looking over his seat. Slowly, in a way he hoped looked natural, he slumped backwards, breaking eye contact with his adversary. He’d completely lost control, and — unbelievably — it was on account of one skinny man holding nothing more threatening than a seatbelt buckle. Even more humiliating; he’d lost control in public.

A moment passed. Then two. Screw him, thought Matthew with a passion he was shocked he still felt. After today, I’m never going see him again.

“Well, you’re correct about that much anyway,” David said quietly.

“Sorry?”

It was now David’s turn to lean forward, and although there was nothing anxious in his manner, his gaze was uncompromising, insisting on attention without question.

“You heard what I said.” The voice was spider’s thread — soft but strong, ensnaring Matthew like an insect. “This will be the last time you ever see me.”

Matthew heard himself answer automatically. “That’s right.”

“But Matthew, the last time you see someone... isn’t that crucial to making a good impression?”

Matthew listened, incredulous as David continued. “You see, I happen to know that you are a big proponent of first impressions. And while I agree they can be vital, if you — how would you say? — blow the exit, then you’ve really lost the interview, haven’t you?”

Matthew shook his head brusquely. He was not going to be manipulated again.

David nodded as if he’d agreed aloud. “You’ll understand, I’m sure.”

Matthew didn’t, but David wasn’t finished. “How you feel, and what you say when all is said and done in your life, and your soul is stripped bare — it’s your last confession, and it is extraordinarily important.”

“What...” Matthew managed, still struggling to find a voice that sounded natural. “What are you talking about?”

The plane sliced through the air, sucked free of all sounds but their words. Nobody else coughed. Nobody else moved.

“I’m talking about your confession, Matthew. Your feelings about what’s happened in your life up till now, or the lack thereof.”

“What can you possibly tell me about—”

“Since you asked, I can tell you about Andrea crying most nights worrying about you. I can tell you how she’s tried to come to grips with what you’ve been up to, barely able to keep her mind on her daughter, let alone the house or the office.”

Matthew’s shock turned his voice to a whisper. “How do you know?”

“She’s getting up later and later, and the later she gets up, the earlier she wants to go to bed.” David looked away for moment, checking something ahead in the crypt-silent cabin. “Sadly, she’s been thinking seriously about spilling her own blood on that lovely blue comforter you got from your sister last Christmas.”

Panic crested in Matthew, tearing through the clenched knuckles frosted to his heart. “But even if that did happen,” David continued, “I’m wondering how long it would be before you had Wendy in that bed. Or Sheila. Or Linda. How long it would take after Andrea’s blood dried.”

Matthew fumbled with his seatbelt, clumsily pulling at a clasp that refused to give. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“Give up, Matthew,” David said coldly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Matthew tried to ignore him, frantically reaching up and punching the stewardess button. No light came on. No bell went off.

“It’s broken, can’t you see that?”

Matthew craned his neck over the seats. “Stewardess!” he yelled. “Stewardess!”

“Nobody can hear you, because nobody’s here.”

Matthew peered across the cabin, eyes wild. David was right. Of the myriad of gloomy shadows draped across the seats and aisles, none belonged to people. No darkened lumps poked over seats, no lights shone over books or magazines; it was as if everyone had leapt from the plane, or had been vaporized by a bolt of lightening.

“It’s just you and I,” David said slowly. “Nobody has really been here for some time. Still, it was necessary to keep their images visible for the charade... and confirm what I needed to know.”

“But where are they?”

“Where they’ve always really been — where you are not; the land of the living.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

“The pain in your chest you were experiencing a short time ago? The pain you’d never felt anything like before? That was when it happened. As of now, you’ve been dead exactly 16 minutes.”

“But... ”

“Come on now, Matthew. Don’t you know the Grim Reaper appears in different forms depending on the circumstances? I even carry a scythe on occasion, as antiquated as that might sound for a man of such modern conveniences as yourself.”

Matthew winced. “But why the lies? Why the deceit at the end of everything?”

The Reaper’s eyes were cold stones, its smile a fresh scar in its face. “Because this isn’t the end, it’s a beginning, and besides; who said I was lying?”

As Matthew watched, the light blue of the creature’s corneas blanched and whitened, swallowing its pupils in milk that quickly yellowed. Matthew felt a scream rising, then locking in the back of his throat.

“Everyone’s hell is different,” the Reaper intoned gravely. “You just happened to be in the middle of yours when your heart was destroyed.”

Cracks around the fiend’s eyes cut down across its cheeks, splitting them open and joining widening splinters around its mouth. The smell of rancid meat slopped out of decaying flesh, spiking the air with rot and decay.

Panic was back, ferocious and unstoppable, speeding Matthew’s dead heart up to a gallop, dumping fresh sweat down his face and torso. “No,” he said aloud.

Outside, the sound of turbines rose to a high-pitched, stuttering squeal. The plane dipped, and Matthew’s stomach cart-wheeled. He snatched at his seatbelt, and it cinched itself tight, cutting into his flesh and making him bleed.

“Your place is here,” the Reaper croaked, now a talking corpse that lifted one skeletal arm and swept it slowly in front of them. Its black sweater had become tattered rags that hung from emaciated shoulders and a sunken chest.

“Please,” Matthew begged. The air was stale and rancid in his lungs.

“Here forever,” the Reaper intoned. The remainders of its eyes collapsed, revealing the bony edges of empty sockets.

“I can’t.”

“But you are.” The ghoul’s wasted lips pulled up in a hideous grin. “And by the way, you may no longer recognize your fellow passengers.”

The cabin lights flickered, his window shade flew up, and a flash of lightening lanced across the wing, so close it blinded him. When his sight returned, the Reaper had vanished.

“Wait!” Matthew yelled, his eyes roaming the cabin as thunder broadsided the plane.

The Reaper may have left, but he wasn’t alone. New shadows crawled and slithered, wailed and moaned. Several rows ahead, a high-pitched shriek climaxed in a sloshing gurgle of laughter. Muddy yellow eyes peered out between the seats in front of him. And in the aisle, a familiar mane of red hair now belonged to a slouching mass of gray flesh mottled with weeping sores.

Steel heaved mightily, and a furious knocking beneath his feet sounded like the muffled pounding of huge fists, smashing their way in. Somewhere, bolts squealed in protest as they were ripped from their metal moorings.

No matter how loudly he screamed, Matthew could still hear it all.