(This is Part Two. If you haven’t read Part One, click here.)
I reached into my pocket for my phone. Perhaps the twins could fly the jet here and get me before I had to endure this living light nightmare. Nothing. I dug deeper, hoping that I had missed it somewhat. I pulled out nothing again. Nothing, but a small scrap of paper.
The rest of the message was gone. Torn off. Why was this in my pocket, and why torn?
I began padding my other pockets frantically. Surely I had something that could help me, anything to get me away from Alaska and back home to California. A wallet or passport or my emergency…There in my left jacket pocket! There was something. I pulled it out, excited to gaze upon my salvation. It was a cellphone. Not mine, but I could make a call home.
I went to dial when I heard a noise coming from the phone. I raised it to my ear, and then my heart sunk into my stomach.
“We’re sorry. This phone will only receive incoming calls. To make a change…”
I bit my upper lip and stared at the airport floor. This was the kind of phone we would give to people when they went out on missions. I was the one that was supposed to assign missions. Why was I on one?