Tommaso's Gone

Sera

“Sera, it’s me,” Tommaso replied, his voice hoarse and strained. I almost sank to my knees in relief. “Where’s Killian?”

“We’re at the airport, Tommaso. Where the hell are you?”

“The hospital. The airport crew who reached the plane first insisted, and the ambulance showed up and I was in no shape to protest.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Broken nose, a concussion, nothing serious. Where is Killian?” he repeated, as if my initial response wasn’t specific enough.

“He’s been trying to call you!”

“My phone is still in the plane.” Frustration punctuated every word.

I turned to where Killian was talking to several officers. “Killian!”

He either didn’t hear me or just ignored me.

“Killian!” I shouted, and he and several others turned, likely noticing me for the first time. “It’s your business associate,” I said, deciding screaming Tommaso’s name probably wasn’t the best idea. “He would like to speak to you.”

Killian’s expression morphed through a series of emotions ranging from ice-cold seriousness