As Essie left the apartment, I decided to get a sorely needed shower first thing.

With the bandages covering half my face in hospital it had been a challenge to adequately keep myself clean.

As I dried myself off, I got a proper look at myself in the mirror for the first time.

I paused a moment, just staring.

I looked positively dreadful. No wonder people eyed me with pity.

My skin had a sickly grey tone to it, there were dark bags below my eyes. My hair, though freshly cleaned now, had been a tangly, matted mess.

I looked like I’d been through, well… a plane crash, to tell the truth.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. But I couldn’t help a sting of fear shoot through me as my gaze lingered on the scarred parts. The pale white eye, and the network of spindly scars weaving through my skin, from my ear, across my face and down to my shoulder.

I reached up and touched by my left ear.

I had had rings in it. Four golden rings, but I suppose they’d been ripped off and broken during my escape from the exploding plane.

The doctors had done a good job patching it together though.

I supposed I’d have to ask around to get it re-pierced.

Shaking my head I got dressed and exited into the living room in search of my phone.

It must have slipped from my pocket as I fell asleep yesterday.

I found it halfway down the crack between the pillows on the couch and pulled it out.

There were a few messages on it, including one about an ophthalmology appointment later in the week.

Other messages were from friends and colleagues, asking if I had made it home alright.

Sinking onto the couch, I went about giving out replies.

One message in particular stood out to me.

A missed call from High Down prison in Sutton. My heart gave an involuntary flinch as my finger hovered over the ‘return call’ button.

In the end I decided to instead pay them a visit and dropped the call altogether.

It had been years since I’d heard from my father, though I probably should have guessed he’d make contact if he kept up with the news.

Feeling a wave of nausea wash over me, I got to my feet.

I needed air.

Trudging out into the entry, I grabbed my keys and jacket and plucked the shopping list from the cork board on my way out.

Outside, the air was clear and crisp, and the sidewalk was still smattered with puddles from yesterday’s rain.

Shoving my hands deep into my pockets I began walking down the street towards the nearest public park.

It was a lovely day, if a bit nippy, and I spent some time just wandering the paths at random.

Here and there I came across other people, out walking dogs, jogging, or entertaining their kids.

At one point I came across what looked to be a class of elementary schoolers commandeering a playground, with a couple of teachers keeping watch further off.

Likely they were out on a field trip in the nice weather.

It seemed the kids were having a blast, though the teachers appeared less enthusiastic.

Eventually, I settled onto a bench by a small pond.

At the opposite bank, a group of people were tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks, and the birds were causing a ruckus.

Every now and then a crow or some other bird swooped in to get a piece of the food, and the ducks would fiercely defend what was theirs.

The air was filled with birdsong and rippling water, and the scent of wet grass.

There was a comforting peace about the bustle of everyday life.

A serene normality which helped subdue the impact of current events somewhat.

Somewhat. But not entirely.

“Excuse me…”

I looked up at the person creeping hesitantly towards me.

She averted her eyes for a moment when first made eye-contact.

“Would you be Avery Rhyse, by chance?” she asked me, and I gave a soft frown.

“Why do you ask?” I asked her back and she took a moment to recollect herself before meeting my gaze once more.

“I’m Lindsay Courter with The Londoneer.” She told me. “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

Giving a silent sigh, I got to my feet.

“As a matter of fact, I would, madam. I am sorry.” I replied, keeping my tone polite but professional.

“But you’re free to submit your questions to the airline, and a spokesperson will be happy to give you whatever answers they can.”

I gave a curt smile and a nod and turned to leave.

She called out after me, but since she was to the left behind me, I didn’t catch the words.

In the end she placed a hand on my shoulder, and I flinched back and turned.

“Is there something else I can help you with?” I gave another smile, however stiff it might have been.

“Listen.” She gave a huff of breath. “What is it going to take for you to agree on an interview?”

The two of us locked eyes, and for a moment silence reigned. Eventually I sighed.

“I have nothing more to add to an already sensationalized incident.” I said. “Please. Find something else to pursue.”

She remained still for a few seconds, simply looking at me. Then she recomposed herself and picked a card from her person.

“Take this.” She said, handing it over. “In case you change your mind.”

“Thank you, but don’t keep your hopes up.” I replied, turning away once more.

As I walked back out of the park, I took a moment to examine the card I was given.

A business card representing The Londoneer, the magazine she said she was working for.

I had seen their name in passing, but couldn’t count myself amongst their readers.

From what little I could gather, they were a run-of-the-mill gossip magazine, releasing stories about local and global celebrities, scandals and trends.

I shuddered to think what they might twist my story into.

Still, I decided to hold onto the card.

Perhaps it could prove useful at some point down the line.

As a bookmark, or the like.